


Take my hand--Take my whole life too.

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bipolar Disorder, Cute, Domestic, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Grumpy Mickey, Homophobic Language, Hospitalization, I will add tags as I go, Kissing, M/M, MICKEY SAID I LOVE YOU FIRST AND I JUST CANT STOP CRYING, Mickey is still dealing with telling Ian how he feels, Multi, Post Season 4, Scenes from 5x01, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, may include season 5 spoilers, mention of cheating, spoilers for 5x08, the progression of their relationship after Mickey comes out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 56,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey have various ways of showing how they feel about eachother, They don't have to say "I love you" to know its true. </p><p> </p><p>(Basically the progression of their relationship into the future through independent drabbles that show how they feel/care about eachother) Inspired by "100 things you do to show someone you love them. But theres more than 100")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Even the crowd can't help me now.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Watch the sunset together

Ian kissed the top of Mickey's head, his lips brushing against the blood soaked strands. He felt the older boy tense underneath him, but the hesitation to not let him close was no longer there. Mickey leaned into the touch, as if Ian was his safety blanket, but Ian could see the way his hands shook against the flask, and his trait to bite his lip was evidently frequent.

 

Mickey shivered as he took a gulp from the flask, wincing as the burn reflected against his pain. Ian glanced down to him, wanting to rid of the guilt he felt towards the smaller boy. He had pushed Mickey, maybe too far, he knew threatening to leave would get a reaction out of Mickey, but he didn't expect him to full blown out himself in front of his psychotic, deluded, evil father and a bunch of known “fag bashers”. It clenched his heart how much risk Mickey had pulled to stop Ian was walking out of that door; walking out of his life. But he knew it still was going to be hard for Mickey to show his true feelings; he still needed time.

 

“Hey, you wanna go home?” Ian asked, just realising how often he had been calling the Milkovich house that.

 

Mickey bit against his lip, his finger playing with his broken tooth. “No.” It was quiet, almost delicate; Ian could sense he was scared but didn't dwell on it because he could already see how fragile and untouched Mickey was looking.

 

Ian stepped closer, taking the flask back to drink the end drops. “Come on Mick, you look like shit.” he could see the twitch in the side of Mickey's lips; the quirk of the eyebrow before it dropped completely.

 

Ian had expected a insult back, maybe a playful punch. “My brothers might go home, I don't want to deal with that shit if my legs can barely fucking move.” he tried lifting his legs to prove his point but Ian tapped them down shaking his head.

 

“Well, we can just sit here, maybe bribe Kev into giving me free booze for my troubles.” He shook the empty flask, weakly smiling to Mickey who was staring at him as if he was crazy.

 

“Your fucking troubles? I have half a tooth in my hand.” He chucked the tooth at Ian, shrugging with a laugh as Ian pulled back to dodge it but just ended up slipping on his ass. “There's some in the van at the back just get that.”

 

Ian nodded, wanting nothing more but to pull Mickey into a hug and hold him there forever, but there were people about; all of them trying to work out the whole situation, some of them hardly stable enough and hiding thinking the cops were out for them. He squeezed Mickey's shoulder, not wanting to kiss him and push him even more than he already had.

 

Once Ian had the booze, the sun was almost set. He had thought that it was later, but time had a different fate, obviously. He made his way over to Mickey who was staring into a wood panel by his feet.

 

“Man, I should of brought my phone so I could take a picture of that sunset.” Ian whined, trying to make a light of the situation. He knew Mickey didn't want to talk about it, so he slid beside him; an arm tucked close to his. For the first time Mickey didn't flinch, despite prior events he let Ian tuck his arm with his own.

 

He heard Mickey scoff, dipping his head to look at his hands. “You are such a fucking dork” He nudged at Ian's shoulder, wanting him to stop gaping at him and just admire the sunset like the fucking werido he was.

“What if this doesn't work out?” Mickey quietly asked, fixating his eyes to Ian's arms tucked against his; the warmth palming his skin.

 

Ian knew what he meant, and he had even questioned it himself. But he had looked back, reflected on their relationship; they always ended up back together, with swearing and thrown punches, and he wanted that. “Then I would be a angry, raging dork who would have to kick some ass.”

 

He heard the low chuckle from Mickey and he wished he heard it more often.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I REALLY REALLY LOVED "magneticdice " - One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You", Which inspired me to do this. 
> 
> SO PLEASE PLEASE CHECK IT OUT- ITS BEAUTIFULLY PERFECT
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3108275


	2. In a reckless world like this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2)Take a shower together.

The house was insanely quiet, no little Gallagher's running about or Fiona stressing over the noise of the washing machine. Ian had told Mickey they would go back to the Gallagher house because a house full of whores and a screaming baby was not going to help their exhausted and will to sleep. Mickey only nodded, following Ian allowing him to wrap his arm around his waist to keep him up right.

 

They got to the bathroom and Mickey watched Ian with weary eyes; it pained him to see how much Ian was willing to do for him, he had always thought he didn't deserve that kind of love, that kind of treatment. It hadn't even hit him that everyone knew he was gay, _everyone._ And fuck he was scared.

 

Ian caught his gaze and walked close to him. Mickey dropped his head with a thump against the redheads chest, exhaling a deep breath he had been holding in the whole journey home.

 

No words were exchanged as Ian turned the shower on, constantly running his hand underneath it checking if it was too hot or too cold. Despite Mickey trying to push him off he helped Mickey under the water, he held his arm above Mickey incase the water hit his cuts on his face.

 

Mickey felt a tightening in his chest, he would glance up and see Ian in the middle of looking for some soap and he would relish the fact that Ian was so fucking selfless; he was bleeding as much as Mickey but yet he was worried if a bit of water got into Mickey's cuts. Watching Ian fuss with the soap Mickey believed he could say those words that Ian wanted to say, but something was still restricting him. Whether it was the booming, distant voice of Terry, or the factor of fear he didn't know.

 

Ian suddenly pulled him close, softly cleaning Mickey's wounds, their chests nearly stuck together. He rubbed into his hair with delicate fingers, massaging his scalp to rid of the blood. Mickey's body was telling him to just run, but Ian was so close and so determined to make Mickey feel okay, he couldn't just run from that. He closed his eyes and hummed against the gentle touch; it was all so nice he wanted to cry. He leant his head against Ian's soaked bruised chest, embracing the feeling of Ian's hands making their way around him.

 

He needed this, he deserved this. And if Gallagher told anyone about this he would shove the soap up his ass. Well, after he felt that heartfelt kiss upon his head once more.

 


	3. Ease my troubles, that's what you do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3) Give him a massage when he has cramp

It was the third time now that he heard the bed creak, the third time he had an elbow to the back. The third time that Ian was being fucking stupid and huffing in frustration. Mickey's eyes felt like they were going to peel off if he didn't get any sleep soon; Ian was going to be dead meat if he didn't sleep soon.

 

“What the fuck are you doing, Gallagher?” he pulled the blanket over his head, trying to pull it from under Ian's wriggling, heavy weight.

 

Ian groaned from his spot, flopping himself back onto the bed facing the ceiling. Angrily he pulled back the blanket, resting it over his bare legs. “I have been doing these exercises recently that I saw-

 

“So you are preparing for a marathon at 3 in the morning?” He felt Ian slap him at the thigh, “Man, you don't _even_ have your running shoes on, what the fuck are you gonna do.” He was laughing from his spot now, the tugging at the blanket getting more needy. 

 

Ian smacked him again, huffing as he sat back up to flex his shoulder from side to side. “Shut the fuck up, you.” He watched as Mickey turned around to face him, a tired smile resting on his face. He shot a glare his way before failing to massage the cramped area, “My shoulder has the biggest cramp ever, and if I fail to get rid of it one more time I might chop it off.” 

 

Mickey sat up then, clicking his neck as he yawned. “Nah man, I need that shoulder to grip onto. It will fucking go soon, just sleep it off.” He began to poke Ian's arm over and over, laughing as he watched the other man struggle. 

 

“Easy for you to say, you can just go back to sleep while _I_ struggle.” He twisted once more before Mickey was beginning to feel frustrated for the other man. He knocked his head against the wooden, small headboard. 

 

“Fucking hell, c'mere.” Mickey said, poking Ian's arm again but with more force this time. Ian turned, stopping himself from squeezing his muscle again. He gave Mickey a questioning look, Mickey has spread his legs out and was giving Ian the grabby hands that he always saw Yevgeny doing.

 

“What?”

 

“Don't fuckin' look at me like that, get your ass over here.” The older boy pointed to the spot between his legs, loosing his patience as he gripped at Ian's arm to pull him over. Ian obliged and crawled over to the spot between his boyfriends sprawled legs. They didn't really do cuddly shit, unless after a round of pretty powerful sex, which was usual. Once he was in the destination spot Mickey brought his hands to Ian's tensed skin. 

 

“Am I turning you into a sap Mickey Milkovich?” Ian giggled, moaning as Mickey's fingers went to work along his shoulders. He pressed his fingers in, rubbing at the cramped spot; his head dropped as the feeling as the pressure got more intense. 

 

Mickey slapped the back of his ginger head, “Shut it you prune, I'm doing this for me. Sick of your fucking elbows hitting me in the back.” He loved to watch Ian unravel under his fingers, her never would of thought he would have that effect on someone. Ian was starting to droop under his fingers; he could feel the body resting in his legs fall back against his chest even more. 

 

Ian yawned quietly, “It could be something else hitting you in the back.” Mickey let him fall against his chest, the back of his head resting in the crook of Mickey's neck. 

 

Mickey ran his fingers along Ian's pecks, up across his ribcage and down his arms. “You're disgusting.” he felt Ian's body relax completely against him, a little whistle escaping his lips. He gently shifted himself down the bed, Ian still in-between his legs against him.  

 

Looking up the ceiling then back down to Ian, he finally realised that he wasn't even tired anymore. A feeling started to creep in his own shoulder; A _fucking_ cramp. Was this a fucking joke. “Mo Farrah here sleeping like a peach, and now  _I'm_ fucking dying.” 

 

One more glance down to the peaceful dork on his chest, he felt him shake on him. That dick was laughing...and it was fucking contagious.

 


	4. When I look and you're not there, I need to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4) Listen to music in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is; Stop Crying Your Heart Out - Oasis. Literally one of my all time favourites. ( I cry everytime) Plus the cover by RoughCopy is beautiful- so either=yes

 

 

Through all of his attempts and small, whispered words Mickey still couldn't get Ian out of bed or even talk. It had been two days since he got the Gallagher's over and Fiona demanded that he needed to be hospitalized. Mickey didn't know shit about what they were talking about, hell, he didn't even know how to _care_ for someone unless it was Mandy, but he still couldn't let Ian go to one of those places. He just came out for him, blown his whole life into a different proportion entirely; he couldn't just give up on him now. 

 

With a plate of pancakes and a glass of water he stepped into the pitch black room; he held the bottle of pills Fiona had shouted for him to use and give to Ian. She had said they were Monica's old ones that she had left, that they might not even work for Ian because they weren't the same people, but as-long as it could help him at least move he had to try it. 

 

Walking into the darkness of his room the ray of light from the rest of the house shone across Ian's bare back. Even from where he was stood he could see the lifeless boy shiver against the cold, yet he didn't shift or move to rid of it.

 

Mickey breathed in deeply, preparing himself for yet again another blast of “Go away” from his Redhead. He didn't have a clue what was going on with him, or if he even had the Bi-polar shit Fiona was blabbing about; he was going to get Ian better and back to himself again, because he can't bare making conversation with the community of whores living in his house. “Yo, sleepy face. Time to get up.” 

 

He felt the flashbacks hit him all over again from the first morning Ian refused to move from the bed; the pain it struck him, he didn't understand how a boy so bright and wild could suddenly fall so small and fragile. Ian didn't answer, Mickey wasn't surprised, he curled further into his fortress of blankets and his own arms. Mickey planted the plate next to bed. 

 

“Hey, get the fuck up.” He shook at Ian's shoulder, getting a little frustrated after doing this for three days; he obviously wasn't going to stop because by then Ian could freely rummage for something sharp, and sharp wasn't good. “ _Ian?_ ” 

 

“Go away.” He heard muffled from under the blanket he so wished to be moved; he wanted to see Ian's face, memorize his features so he didn't have to remind himself that he was still there. His voice sounded wet and croaky like his throat was hardly working any more, Mickey turned to his side to grab the water. 

 

He pulled at the blanket that wasn't moving, and crouched beside the bed. “Don't start that shit again, have some water.” He held the water in front of Ian's covered face, wanting for him to just give in and take the god-damn drink. He didn't want to be harsh, but he just didn't know how to do the fluffy duffy bullshit that  _all_ the Gallagher's did. 

 

Ian still didn't budge, he just mumbled more incoherent words that Mickey couldn't decipher. The older boy slammed the glass deliberately against the side table, feeling regret as soon as he did it because he didn't expect Ian to flinch like he was going to get hit; He could feel Terry expressing himself through him, and he had to stop it.  _He wasn't Terry, he never would be._

 

“I can't.” He heard lower than a whisper, it felt it shiver through him till he almost wanted to be sick. It sounded so child-like and frail, he could feel the fear coming off Ian's body and it frightened the shit outta him; it scared him how much Ian wasn't Ian, that he wasn't bouncing off the walls, talking shit, but instead he couldn't move because he physically and mentally couldn't. 

 

He shook his head before his tear rimmed eyes let loose and stood up. “I don't know what to do.” He admitted to himself quietly, he didn't want Ian to hear it because he didn't want to sound like he was a pussy, or that he had just given up on him. He left the room, trying to roam through his brain to find an answer, or solution that could help get Ian feeling a little better than he seemed. 

 

He wasn't going to look on the internet and ask for answers, he wanted to do this  _himself._ He wanted to show Ian he could do it, that he actually cared. Part of the reason Ian lying there lifeless and lonely he blamed himself for, he knew he had pushed Ian nearly over the edge a couple of times and maybe this time it just went to far, he didn't know. Then his eyes clasped to the device just by his hand. Mandy had left it after she ran out to find Lip; there was something going on between them two that he didn't really want to explore any further. 

 

He grabbed it and made his way back to Ian. The redhead was in the same position, his food still untouched and water still full to the brim. Mickey carefully slid onto the bed, discarding his own pants and sitting underneath what was left of the blanket. “Mandy left her phone, what an idiot.” He laughed, waiting for Ian to jump up and say something dumb like “Lets take some pictures and send it out to everyone!” but he still got nothing. 

 

Sighing he tried again. “Hey, Gallagher you want to listen to some of her shit music? I swear she's got a bit of George Michael on here, bet  _you_ would like that, ey?” His smiled dropped as Ian still failed to turn around, even if he had tried to be funny. He bit his lip, his finger still scrolling along the endless amount of songs on the phone. 

 

He felt himself deflating as Ian's shoulders began to hunch over even more, what could he do? His eyes caught to a song he once remembered singing to Mandy when Terry went sick one night and hit her by accident after Mickey had dodged a punch. He remembered her curling into him and crying into his shoulder like he was the most caring person in the world; he wished he could do that with Ian, he wished he  _was_ the most caring person in the world, he wished he could just help him. 

 

He turned to his side, hesitating before shuffling closer to Ian's back. He began gently to trail his finger along each freckle, noticing the way Ian flinched but slowly relaxed against the touch. He absently clicked the song, the only light in the room coming from the phone itself. 

 

**“ \- _Well,I guess it would be nice if I could touch your bod-”_**

 

Mickey quickly scrambled for the phone, Fucking Mandy always making George Michael makes his appearance somewhere. “Not today George” Mickey mumbled to himself trying to shut it up before ruining his incoming sentimental moment. He felt Ian shift backwards, only a little, but he felt it. He felt the twitch on his lips, telling him to smile, but he focused more on trying to get the song he _actually_ wanted to play.

 

He clicked it wearily he's eyes cocking over to see if Ian was still awake. He pressed play and waited till the verse faded out.

 

**“ _May your smile...shine on._**

**_Don't be scared..."_ **

 

Then he snuggled himself into Ian's back, something he had found himself doing recently. It wasn't just about the song, he wanted the words to mean something; he wanted Ian to recognise he was _there._

 

**“.... _Cos all of the stars are fading away,_**

**_Just try not to worry,_ **

_**You'll see them someday”** _

 

Mickey never admitted but he did have a guilty pleasure of listening to Oasis, and despite looking like a idiot, or sounding like one, he might of started to sing a couple of lines that caught his lip. His felt Ian slowly relaxing against the sheets, his sniffing beginning to get louder each line that was sung from the phone.

 

**“ _Take what you need, and be on your way-_**

_**and stop crying your heart out...”** _

 

As quickly as it started the song was over, Mickey turned the phone off before George could make his appearance again. Once the phone was on the side table; through the struggle of searching in the dark, when he turned his almost jumped when he felt Ian turn around to face him.

 

Even with the darkness all around them he couldn't miss the lost look in Ian's eyes, or the way his lip was quivering as his body shook. He couldn't forget the way Ian's cheeks were puffed up in red and his arms were cradling himself like he couldn't contain what was inside. As soon as he caught it he caught Ian. He pulled him up as quickly as he could and felt him release himself into chest; Ian's hands gripping tight to the t-shirt he was still wearing as if he could fall any minute.

 

He needed to know how to fix this; but he didn't know how to start.


	5. I know my world is killing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5) Hold him with your hands inside the back of his shirt

 

 

He couldn't tell if it was the middle of the night or if it was morning; he hadn't moved for almost a week and the darkness of the bedroom was beginning to linger now. He was used to darkness; but he was petrified of it. Each day he could feel it pressed against his back tempting its way into his mind, he pushed it off denying it was ever there. It was desperate, desperate to take away the only hope he had and feed on it.

 

It was like he was naked and alone outside in the cold, dark night. He could feel himself trying to fight the cold with his fists and feet but no matter how hard he struggled the chill always seeped into his bones. It was sudden, he didn't forget how fast the colour drained from life, where nothing seemed worth it, and he would sleep just enough to still feel exhausted in the morning. The past few days blurred toegther as he didn't feel any real difference between the miserable moment and the next; he was scared, scared that he couldn't escape it. Scared he would be alone and trapped within his own mind.

 

He could feel the comfort Mickey was trying to give him, the hope that he was trying to show him. But hope just felt like a bitter joke told by a sneering executioner and eventually, there is only his voice endlessly saying the same thing; end it.

 

But Ian could feel himself gear up, just that little bit. He felt his fists clench even though they were weak from lying lifelessly. _I can do this._ He told himself as his bladder began to pinch more; he didn't want to piss the bed, he was already a joke; he didn't need other factors to support that. He slowly swung his legs from under the blanket, his feet freezing against the floor. He waited a couple of seconds before pulling himself up onto his weakened legs; they could hardly hold him, all thin and pale. 

 

With the help of near by walls and objects he managed to make it to the bathroom. After he was done he began to make his way back to the only spot he had known for the past few dragged days. But somehow before he had moved he hadn't noticed the vacant spot within his and Mickey's bed, he had discarded the fact that the usual heat behind him was not there. What he did notice was that the door was slightly creaked open and he could hear a distant rattling and tapping coming from the living room. 

 

_Can I do this?_ He asked himself, not knowing whether he had any strength left to even get back to the bed; he then heard a huff and the rattling got intensely harder. Breathing in as much as he could, until his lungs were nearly about to explode, he exhaled and rested his forehead against the open door.  _You can do this._

 

Gently he recovered himself out of Mickey's bedroom, his eyes squinting against the dim light from the broken lamp which was flung at the side of the room. As they adjusted his noticed Mickey bracing himself against the counter, his back towards him. In his hand he was holding a bottle of pills rattling it as he waited for the kettle to boil. Ian's eyes widened he hadn't seen those pills before and he wasn't sure what to think of it. 

 

Grabbing the blanket from the chair he wrapped himself up within his own coocon and shuffled carefully over to Mickey. He stood behind him, his hand gently poking onto his shoulder blade. Just as he would of expected, Mickey darted around his reflexes wanting to take action, fists raised, nose flaring; but it fell as he saw Ian with glazed eyes and cheekbones all out. 

 

“Jesus Fucking Christ” He spat dropping the pills to the floor in a moment of fear. He clambered himself to reach down to pick them up, his head nearly butting into Ian's and he also bent over to reach for them. Once he looked into Ian's eyes he licked his lips to talk again. “You can't go fucking sneaking around like that, I could of thrown a punch and broken your nose.” Ian didn't expect him to jump on him, sooth him because he was finally out of bed, he didn't want that, he liked this, he liked Mickey. 

 

Ian became flustered wishing he didn't leave the comfort of the bed to be so open like that, “I- I, I didn't mean too, I just-” He bent his head down his words not forming and he didn't want to try fixing them. He could feel Mickey fixing a gaze on him, trying to work him out. 

 

“It's alright- What are you doing out of bed?” His eyes were concerned, it was late and the shock of seeing Ian out of bed and wondering about scared him a little; it scared him how much his heart started to pound as he fixed his eyes to those green ones. He watched as Ian's glanced differed from a smile, his head turning from side to side as if to look for answers. 

 

“No, No no. I meant you could of called me or some shit, your legs must ache as fuck lying in that bed-” He stopped himself before he could go any further, he didn't want to say anything that might put Ian back in the state of hardly talking or eating. He had talked to him a couple of times, just a little chat here and there. He didn't eat though, only a nibble of bread and a sip of water. 

 

Ian stared towards the absent bottle of pills in Mickey's hands, he felt his heart shake with denial  _he didn't need them, he didn't need them._ Instead of talking he scarcely lifted his hand and felt for the bottle. Mickey followed his movements biting his lip as he waited for Ian's reaction. He hadn't forced them on him like Fiona had said, because they weren’t sure it was even Bipolar. But it had been a week now, a week of Ian staring exactly where he was doing nothing but crying and sleeping; he needed to take the pills, Mickey needed him to take them. 

 

“Ian.”Mickey spoke softly, something Ian abruptly looked up at because he wasn't used to Mickey's soft tone. “You gotta take the pills.” 

 

Ian dropped his hand suddenly, he felt himself rival the anger up inside of himself.  _I don't need them, why would I need them. I'm fine._ He shook his head frantically, his palms wiping the tears that erupted from his eyes. “I don't want them. I don't need them. I'm- I'm fine.” It was the most he had said, and it hurt. 

 

Mickey watched the whole display, he knew Ian was going to deny it all; he was a selfless basturd who cared more about others than he did about himself. “Don't chat that bullshit!” He shouted, hearing the baby cry from the other room, he watched Ian flinch and look away with his lip between his teeth and the blanket pulling in further. 

 

“You have been lying in that bed for a week now, no food, no water. No nothin', don't act like you are fucking okay, because you are not.” Mickey rubbed at his eyes with frustration and upset; he didn't want to say that shit to Ian, but he had to. “Just take the pills and let us fucking take care of _you,_ for once.” 

 

Ian watched in pure bliss, unable to form a argument. Mickey just declared that he wanted to take of Ian, he couldn't just put that burden on Mickey; he didn't want to see him waist his life. He stepped forward scared that if he touched Mickey he might push him way, tell him he should go, but when he did Mickey let it happen; he let Ian pull him to his chest and hold him. Ian hadn't come this close to him a while and he could see the changed the brunette had; his face was slimmer, his skin paler and eyes darker; he did this to Mickey.

 

He rested his arms around the smaller boy, placing his hands in the back of Mickey's shirt. If those stupid pills stopped him from seeing the lost and alone look he had left in Mickey's eyes, then he would reluctantly take them. “Okay.” Mickey contintued to shiver as Ian's hands were cold against his skin, but they didn't move.

 

They stood there for a while, the bottle of pills digging into Ian's back a constant reminder telling him he was crazy.  _You just gotta take them, take them and you will still have Mickey._


	6. Okay, Princess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6) Whispering to eachother

Mickey had forgotten when he had fallen asleep, he was too busy releasing himself from his afterglow of steaming, hot sex. He and Ian had used the advantage of the Gallagher free house and ended up passing out from its exhausting but goose bumping activities. Ian had been stable for a little while, and Mickey had finally got to grips with giving him his pills each morning. What he hadn't forgotten  though was the heavy lump pushing him further into the bed, he could feel the breath against his neck condensate into sweat as he gripped for some air. It was hot as balls and he couldn't open his eyes for the amount of sleep was unusually not getting.

 

The position was getting more uncomfortable; the sheets had curled underneath him and his hand was trapped between a his chest and Ian's arm. Not only that, he wasn't even sure there was a blanket covering his butt naked body and he _knew_ Carl was in there; he didn't want to scar him for life, but he wasn't sure if he already had. However, he hadn't heard a scream or a disgruntled moan from across the room, so for the moment, he seemed relatively okay. But this heat and weight crushing him; he couldn't bare it any more, as much as he tolerated Ian's long to cuddle, this was way to much. 

 

It was like ripping sheets of paper apart once his eyes slowly started to open, he felt the darkness slowly adjust but his eyes were more fixed on the sprawled body he had on top of him. 

“Gallagher.” He spoke loud, he didn't care if Carl was across the room; hell, he didn't care if the president happened to be sitting in there, not that he acquired the political system, he was moving this lump off of him. Still, Ian rested peacefully like he wasn't slowly ,crushing his lover. “ _ **Gallagher.”**_

 

All he got in return was a shift of a head and a tightening of an arm; not what he wanted. He huffed towards the ceiling, he felt that if he didn't move soon the heat would finally melt him and all that would be left was a sweat patch of where he lay. His patience wearing thin, he smacked his hand harshly onto Ian's pale, freckled back. 

 

In immediate reaction the redhead sprung from his position, a yelp releasing from his lips. “What the  _ fuck _ , Mickey?” His voice was ruff with annoyance, he glared towards the older boy, who's lips were slowly forming into a devious grin. He mouthed smirking,  _ One nil to me, asshole. _

 

Ian frowned with confusion, shifting to the side finally letting Mickey breathe. He glared as Mickey exhaled with exaggeration. “Why the hell did you just smack me, you dick?” He rubbed at his eyes and Mickey couldn't help but look at how his hair was sticking in all places. 

“You were literally crushing me into the bed, your sweat was almost becoming part of my skin.” He moaned, resting his arm on top of Ian's in a way to reassure the boy that he wasn't so mad at him; even though his skin felt like a heat magnet. 

 

Ian's scowl turned up into a smirk, he couldn't deny how cute it was that Mickey was getting bullied by the heat. “You could of just said, and anyway you don't  _ usually  _ moan about my heat.” 

 

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose, his lips nearly quickening up into a smile. “Man, you were fuckin' dead to the world.” He looked over scowling towards the usual smug Gallagher. “Fuck off, my bed is usually minus degrees I need your heat there to survive, this place though; the whole house is like a fuckin' oven!” he flapped his arms up to express his frustration. 

 

Suddenly the outburst from across the room stopped Ian from answering with a smart ass comeback. “WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP, JESUS.” It was Carl, and he was obviously pissed off; not that Mickey dawned to care in any sense. 

 

“I don't give a crap if you're licking weiners or whatever you guys do, but don't interrupt my sleep.” He called out, neither Ian or Mickey could see the little boys head. Mickey cackled a little bit, receiving a pinch to the thigh off Ian. 

 

“Okay princess.” Mickey joked, turning to Ian who was giggling to himself with his hand clasped shut over his mouth. Mickey shifted a little closer on the small, single bed, he wasn't in the mood to “spoon” as Ian would refer it as; he would always call it queer dancing, but he had to learn that Terry wasn't around no more, he didn't have to say shit like that. 

 

Mickey hesitated at first but slowly trailed his fingers along Ian's toned abs; ones that he couldn't help but get hard when they contracted. “When the fuck did he get so dramatic?” Mickey whispered quietly to Ian, he couldn't be assed with Carl going frantic and probably stabbing them in the dick. 

 

Ian scoffed, “He sounds like you, probably idolizes you or somethin'” he waited for a slap that Mickey surely was gonna give; and guess what he did, but it wasn't as hard as he would of expected. 

 

“Shut the fuck up. He's stubborn like you” Mickey snapped back,still whispering, his eyes smiling up to Ian as if he was God's gift; oh, wait it seems he was with bed hair and that toothy grin

 

Ian tried to shift closer, but Mickey felt like he was burning; and not just from the heat, Ian literally ignited the inside of him,in various ways. “Woah Mickey, are you a pro-whisperer, you are doing pretty well so far.” Ian teased, knowing full well Mickey would get pissed because he was basically referring to days before when Ian had told him to be quiet but all Mickey could do was moan his head off; he couldn't keep quiet like that even if he tried.

 

“Oh fuck off!” Mickey finally broke off his whisper, poking Ian hard in the chest repeatedly, he didn't give a fuck about heat Ian was getting it now. Straddling him he tickled at his sides; This was _so_ not cheesy or that shitty romantic stuff, it was him simply torturing his boyfriend with tickle war. 

 

Carl sat up, watching as Mickey jumped onto his brother; he had enough of this shit, sleep was precious. “I swear to God, and this is a promise, If you don't shut up I'mma ram this knife in your dicks.” 

 

It only made the two laugh harder.


	7. I know everything is not ok but you're like honey on my tongue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7) Kiss in the rain.

Mickey was pissed; more than pissed. The whores at the Rub N' Tug were grating on his ass; Kev was biting his head off about some shitty payment that somehow involved Mickey cleaning out the van; When he had got to the Gallagher's to finally get some rest after Svetlana called shouting her mouth off about the kid, Lip was his usual self and gobbed off about taking care of Ian, properly. He had emphasised that. Alot. 

 

Mickey had stormed out, knocking a few chairs in his way, he didn't bother closing the door after the handle hit against the wall, he just took off into the rain that was suddenly making his day even worse. Obviously, Ian had followed. Mickey knew he would, Ian was like a sick puppy, he would follow him with those big green eyes and somehow make his shit day seem a little less dull. 

 

“Wait up Mick.” He heard Ian gasp from behind him. He wasn't in the mood to turn and wait for him, he was sick to death of people pecking at him about not being able to take care for Ian. First it had been Mandy, _I'm only saying, maybe letting Fiona look after him would be better, they've had to deal with it before._ Then it was Fiona, _He should be at home, I'm not saying that he's not in safe hands Its just- ._ And obviously, he knew Lip would push himself in and try to convince them all that Mickey was incapable of caring. 

 

_ All the times you've left Ian, how do we know you're not gonna bail now?  _ Lip's words were literally shredding into his skin. He was surprised Ian wasn't starting to believe all of his family shit; it was clear he didn't, just yet. Mickey knew he wasn't able of caring, but he was willing to try; He knew he probably wasn't good enough for Ian, he knew that; God, how many times he had told himself that. But he was willing to push himself, dig deep and find himself, just so he could be at least  half of what Ian deserved. 

 

Through years and years of practice he was able to mask any sort of feelings combustive inside of him.  _ Why the fuck you cryin', you some girl? _ Terry would always make his bones shiver; even if he was behind bars rotting like the dead meat he was. 

 

“Mickey, stop-

 

“No, why the fuck should I.” He shrugged the hand off his shoulder, the rain hitting his face like pellets; somewhere deep down he wished they actually were. Then he stopped, he couldn't just let Ian off for standing there whilst Lip gave him the neck. “Why the hell did you just stand there, let him eat away at me? Huh?” He knew he might be sounding a little over reactive but keeping it in wasn't easy sometimes. 

 

Ian paused, guilt riding up his neck. And Mickey could see it; he could see the redness creeping up,even through the rain. “Its Lip Mickey, he's always been a dick.” He said it as if he didn't know the words his brother had come out with had hit Mickey, had pressed so far in that maybe he was starting to believe it. 

 

“And so am I, that doesn't mean I can't tell the truth.” They had both paused in their walking. They were both stood directly in the middle of the path; puddles forming around them as they started their little domestic. Ian caught the quietness of the last few words; it finally dawned on him, why had he been so stupid. 

 

Mickey was biting his lip, agitated. He needed a cigarette; he could smoke it, or he could put it in Lip's eye, both  equally satisfactory. He watched as Ian stepped over, his hand calling out for Mickey's cheek. The older boy pulled away,  _ fuck, he was acting like Terry was still around.  _ Ian tried again, because Ian was always that persistent fucker.

 

“Just breathe, okay?” Ian sounded pretty calm for what he like the day before. Mickey had come home to a house full of smashed plates and a screaming Redhead. Ian wouldn't tell him what happened, but it seemed off. Just that morning Ian had kissed Mickey's cheek, Yev balanced in his arm like he was his own, and yet he didn't understand how there could be such a diverse change. 

 

“What is going on with you? Do you seriously believe Lip? Fucking seriously?” All questions firing away, because that was what Gallagher did. He waited for Mickey's reaction but all he got was a turned back and footsteps leading the other way. He ran quickly behind; he couldn't just let Mickey suffer in silence, he already knew what that was like. 

 

Mickey felt Ian catch his wrist, he swung around ready to throw a punch. “So what if I did?” He snapped back, trying hard enough not to bite his lip. Ian was looking at him with those glazed over eyes, and for once he didn't know what to do. He saw Ian's eyes widen with realisation, the way the green suddenly shone up. 

 

“I don't give a shit what he says!” Ian shouted, his hands flying to wipe away the rain that was covering Mickey's face. They were both soaking but it wasn't the rain what was embedding itself in his skin; the look on Mickey's face was more than enough. “I trust you, if you say you're gonna stay than I believe you.”

 

Mickey fucking hated the way that Ian could say words and his mood could totally lift, he hated the way that Ian would just flip his stomach and make he want to do crazy things. “What the fu- How can you say that when I've ran out on you so many times?” Mickey felt like he was finally releasing; not that he felt good about it. 

 

Ian got closer, his hair looking dumb as the rain clumped the strands together that had fell against his forehead. “And you're just forgetting the fact that I left you too?” He watched as Mickey gulped at that, he regretted bringing it up. “I don't give a shit about what's happened before; I trust you _now_.” 

 

Mickey felt the urge to shrug Ian's hand off that was warmly resting on his cheek, but he mentally admitted that he kind of liked it. “What If I don't trust me?” It was quiet, he didn't mean it to be. It scared him how Ian could do that to him, silence him to talk about feelings and actually feel  _ better  _ after doing it.

 

Ian weakly smiled his other hand holding place against Mickey's soaking wet face. He gently placed a wet kiss among his mouth; feeling that same tingle he always had when their lips connected. It told him he was still sane, it told him that Mickey was still there. He felt Mickey lean into it , his hands hovering over Ian's arms. Once they pulled apart Ian let out a little giggle at Mickey's frustrated face. 

 

“Then fuck you; I still do.” And Ian meant it. His mind was all over the place, he didn't see It but everyone kept telling him that. One point he's up next he's down, he wondered if life and genetics had been different he would be here at all. Resting their foreheads together, he felt Mickey raise his eyebrows up at him, the sentimental moment almost ruined; but not quite. 

 

“What?” He asked shyly. 

 

Mickey playfully shrugged him off, wrapping his coat around himself. Lips lingering words still played in his head, but Ian's stuck more. He laughed again, “You literally just followed me so you could kiss me in the fucking rain, didn't you?” 

 

Ian shook his head, following Mickey's slowed walk. Even though he could feel the topic still roaming in Mickey's mind, he left It be. “No, I came so you wouldn't kill someone on the way back.” He chuckled a breath as Mickey pushed at his shoulder with a are-you-sure raised eyebrow. “Okay, maybe both. _But_ , at least when we get back we are already wet.”

 

Mickey saw Ian wink, that cheeky ass fucker. “Well I ain't complaining.” 


	8. You're the key to my peace of mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8) Dressing eachother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit poo, but oh well,
> 
> So I basically just used the screen cap of Ian getting changed infront of the mirror for this- it is short but I wanted to portray that Mickey and Ian are comfortable at the mo( including bby Svetlana); but keeping on the fact of Ian's disorder. 
> 
> (PLUS I'M FUCKING BUZZING ABOUT THE FUCKING 1ST EPISODE IM LIKE WRITING MORE)

 

 

Svetlana walked into the bedroom, Yevgeny tucked onto her hip sweetly, Mickey turned his head instinctively as her presence moved into the room. The air was nipping his chest as he sat up against the headboard, the vacant spot next to him missing the heat it usually had. Ian stood quietly in front of the mirror as he slowly buttoned up his pressed white shirt. He still had the rest of his dress blues uniform to put on, but he couldn't push himself on just yet. 

 

Ian hadn't been speaking that much lately, his speech getting slower and his words getting smaller, Mickey was starting to worry he felt it in the pit of his chest. Ian had told him a week before that a friend of his ,that he shorty served with , had died during his term; Ian wanted to go to show his respect towards him, he begged that Mickey went with him, he wasn't sure whether he could face his dying dream alone. 

 

Mickey and Svetlana exchanged glances as Ian started to frustrate over his tie, his hands frantically pulling at the fabric. Svetlana used her free hand to point to Mickey and then nod towards the redhead. Seriously, Mickey hadn't even noticed how close Ian and Svetlana suddenly were; they were already acting like best friends, he had noticed the way that they all had suddenly eloped into the strangest fucking family ever; It was like Yevgeny had four parents. Svetlana had peppered them with kisses on the cheek like the high functional family they  _obviously_ were, and even though he knew it was less arguments in the house, he still felt that tang of jealously.

 

“Fuck” He mumbled under his breath, taking in the younger boy to be fussing awkwardly over dressing himself. Something was brewing inside of him, striking him that today might not be a good day. Luckily he was still wearing preserving clothing over his southern region and was able to not scar his own kid. “Ay,Let me.” He turned Ian by his shoulder just to be abruptly pushed back. He turned to Svetlana for some moral support but she just mouthed something in Russian, before taking the strangely quiet child out of the room. 

 

“I can do it myself, I am not totally incapable yet.” Ian snapped back; Mickey had been seeing these sudden outbursts a lot recently. Lip and Fiona had told him briefly that Ian would express drastic mood swings, that sometimes will effect Mickey, but it was always best to not snap at him but to _try_ and make things easier. Ian continued to pull at the black fabric, over and under, then back out again; it was all making Mickey fluster in irritation. 

 

“Fuck, _Gallagher_ , I said let me.” He grabbed the fabric pulling Ian to face him. Ian may have the upper hand over his overpowering stance and height, but Mickey had strength and when he had a firm hold he wasn't letting go. “Just breathe, alright? I'm gonna be there so nothing bad is going to happen.” He wished he could promise that, but dearly he wasn't sure what was going on with Ian, frankly, he was scared. 

 

Ian tried to pull back but his strength was flimsy, he didn't want to fight before going to the funeral. He had been telling himself,  _I'm in control. I'm always in control. I'm in control._ And he had to believe that. If he started a fight with Mickey now, over a dumb tie, then he wouldn't be in control when he needed to be. “I know, It's just-” he breathed in and out, controlling his breathing was the only thing he could manage to keep control of these days. 

 

“I know. I know.” Mickey fumbled with the tie, patting it against Ian's shirt once he'd finished. They heard the baby cry and they both simultaneously turned their heads in the direction of the door. Ian looked towards Mickey, he didn't _know._ Not really, he felt like no one did. 


	9. I'm so addicted to all the things you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9) Undress eachother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one was quite easy because they sure do a lot of it

The door slammed as their lips failed to detach, Ian had kicked it with his foot and the collision with the wind just made it echo louder. Mickey had come home early and Ian had no where to be, so yet again, they took their advantages. At first Mickey wanted to just sleep, he hadn't being doing much of that lately because all he seemed to do was watch the redhead sleep; he wanted to make sure that he was actually alright. There were some moments that questioned Ian's “I'm fine”s but other times Ian was acting like Ian, that scared him a little bit. What he did, truly, both experiencing and noticing it, was Ian's sudden uprising in sexual craving. 

He wasn't going to lie, they had sex almost every day that they had the chance. In the bathroom, against the walls, on the floor and obviously on the bed; you name it, they did it. However, Ian was wanting it more, and wanting more wild. More play fighting, more foreplay; doing shit that, yes Mickey loved, but he hadn't even thought to do before. Fiona had mentioned a rise in Hypersexuality when he comes to what Ian might have, and Mickey just took that. He wasn't going to piss on it and look further into it, because what 17 year old gay boy isn't fuckin' horny? 

 

“Take this off.” Ian ordered, his lips latching onto Mickey's neck as they disorderly moved towards the open door of the bedroom. Mickey was too busy moaning against the feel of Ian's soft lips against his skin, that he didn't notice Ian recklessly trying to pull his shirt open; the buttons nearly popping off. As all the buttons were finally undone Ian helped him get out of the tight shirt. 

Mickey lifted Ian's head to crash their lips together, his hand fumbling with the buckle on Ian's pants; the times he wished buckles didn't fucking exist. They were tripping and knocking things over, but they were all too interested in stripping each other naked to the bone. Mickey pulled at Ian's t-shirt, his hands gripping to the fabric to pull it over of the taller boys head. “You need to catch up, Gallagher.” He smirked, pulling his own pants down to his ankles, to then kick them off before they reached the door.

Ian obliged and imitated Mickey's actions to kick off his own pants, before pushing Mickey to the bed with full force and leaning over him. “Fuck, you look so good.” Ian gasped, leaning further down to lick at Mickey's nipples. His large hands fell beneath his boxer waistband his cold fingers causing him to yelp with contact. His mouth was yearning for Ian to press his own against them, the crave of the taste of the only person he ever let go there. 

“Stop fucking around and get up here, asshole.” Mickey leaned on his elbows, wincing pleasurably as the soft kisses trailed to the skin to above his pubes. “Fuck” He gasped to himself, his hands slowly making their way to play with the redhair tickling his belly. Ian kissed harder, before suddenly planting rushed kisses up Mickey's chest, jaw and then to his lips. 

His hands were still at the brunettes waist, “I love ripping your fucking clothes off.” Mickey squirmed at Ian's dark, seductive tone that made his stomach flip; that fucker could say shit that would make his cock spring up in seconds. Ian continued to attack Mickey's lips, the only sound being their heavy breaths and moans against each other. Instantly their hips began to rock, until Mickey realised there was still two layers of clothing separating them.

“Well, you're doing a pretty shit job at it; my fucking dick is still covered.” He whispered it smirking against Ian's ear; He could feel the way Ian's cock hardened against his leg and the taller boy clambered to remove any unwanted clothing. Finally they were skin on skin and Mickey couldn't have been happier; there were some things he wished for in this world, and that was Ian's cock rubbing against his own, as crude as it was, he fucking loved it and didn't give a shit. 

As quick as a flash Ian was already prepping Mickey. The moaning getting louder as he slid each slick finger into him; slowly then did he swap to putting himself into Mickey. They both groaned and rocked rhythmically as Ian pounded Mickey from behind; somehow having rough sex face to face was plain too funny, neither of them could manage doing it without getting a clash of foreheads or knock on the nose. Mickey sure did love the way that Ian knew what he was doing; before he knew it they were both cumming in pure ecstasy; Ian falling onto Mickey's back and just lying their as they both caught back to their routine breathing. 

“Fuck, Ian.” Mickey inhaled deeply, his breath hardly catching up. In the list of things that made Ian Gallagher special to Mickey, was that he could fuck like a pornstar and Mickey felt honoured that it was him who was experiencing it. 

Ian chuckled, reaching over to Mickey's pack of cigarettes and taking one. As he lit it and took a drawn out drag his felt the sensation build up in his chest. They both sat against eachother; Mickey's back half way lying against Ian's chest. “You know, I don't see a point in even wearing clothes anymore. All we ever do is fucking rip them off eachother.” 

Mickey scoffed towards Ian, he was right with that one. “Yeh, because your a fucking animal.” He took the stick from Ian's lips, feeling the redhead watch him as his lips wrapped around it. “But we gotta wear atleast some pants, we can't go scarring the kid before he can even talk; And plus if Iggy saw two naked men walking around his house he might have a fucking heart attack.” 

Ian laughed intensely loud, he had been doing that recently, and somehow Mickey was starting to love it. They all knew Iggy was conscious that he might walk in on them fucking one day; he says “You fuck who you fuck, what do I care.” but he does have his terms.


	10. And here we are in heaven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10) Kiss every inch to their body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # SPOILERS. So I've done the wrestling scene from 5x01 because damn that touched my heart. Even though Ian had cheated it doesn't differ my view on him or on his relationship with Mickey. They have developed so far, and they have gotten through far worse than a quick handjob and blowie with a stranger-- ya know what I mean. #SPOILERS OF COURSE
> 
>  
> 
> (It is nearly 2am so excuse my poor writing will develop tomorrow)

 

Ian loved the feel of a cigarette between his lips;he had missed it so much when he had quit and he was starting to forget why the hell he even tried. That sudden urge rose back inside of him, like the one at the supermarket and at the café, but this he wanted  _more._ Next to him he saw his boyfriend curled around his pillow, his bare back facing him with a sheer line of sweat across his pale skin. Ian loved Mickey like this; peaceful and somewhat vulnerable. 

 

Stubbing out his cigarette he called over with a hushed tone, “You awake?” He exhaled the smoke making sure he blew it to the side. Mickey hadn't shifted yet, but as he slid further down from his sitting position he felt the older boy's feet twitch against the sheets. He hadn't looked over Mickey's shoulder yet when he heard the gruff reply. 

 

“I am now.” he didn't sound annoyed, for once, whenever Ian had woken him he would get a slap to the face, maybe even a punch. As he peered over a little he caught the grin spread across the brunettes face, the way he pretended he wasn't interested in what Ian was saying; but it was obvious he was. 

 

Ian placed himself closer, his mouth almost at Mickey's ear. “I can't sleep.” He confessed, his voice playfully encouraging Mickey to turn around. Yet again he didn't seem to shift and Ian was getting more hard just thinking about it; his impulses seemed stronger than ever, not that he was complaining. 

 

“Oh, really.” Mickey laughed back not expecting for Ian to rest his chin at his shoulder; he had discarded the point he was smiling to himself because it was most likely Ian had already seen it. Through slit eyelids he could see the menacing eyes of finally, _His_ Gallagher, and he knew what that meant; it only made him grin wider. 

 

Suddenly without precaution Ian pulled at Mickey's shoulder, roughly pinning him down to the bed with his own chest laid upon Mickey's. “Yeh, you got a problem with that?” His voice was hard, as if he was snapping at Mickey; he didn't mean it of course, he always used the stern voice when he was getting at it; he knew it only made Mickey squirm. His hands were clutched to Mickey's, the brunettes surprised face still shining as Ian pressed himself closer with their noses nearly touching. 

 

“No, why would I have a pro-

 

They ended up in a wrestling-like fight; Ian pulled at Mickey's shoulder trying to pin him down, Mickey pushed at Ian's chest getting a upper hand over the taller boys shoulder. His grip was hard against Ian's back, Ian was continuously laughing as Mickey began to struggle;he didn't miss the pure happiness that he saw in Mickey's smile though. “Time to wake up!” Ian laughed, his hand going to slap Mickey's face a once over.

 

“Hey, _Army_.” Mickey repeated to Ian, his new nickname feeling like it already stuck; Ian felt that tingle that told him that he liked it. They fell into a awkward hugging position, Ian was laughing down his ear, his hair brushing against Mickey's shoulder. Mickey pushed once more toppling Ian over to the other side of the bed, he pulled himself up onto Ian's chest; using his strength to pin his hands to the sheets. “You were saying.”

 

 

“Well...” Ian leaned into the kiss him, their mouths merely apart; he could feel Mickey open up to him, his mouth almost in line with his own, until he took a drastic turn. In the oppittunity of Mickey having no protection of his own strength he changed their positions so he was once again laid flat against the smaller boys chest. Mickey huffed off with defeat, the same smile still wildly lingering against his face. 

 

Ian then began to trail soft kisses from his shoulder to his neck, then to his jaw; back down to his collarbones, then to his chest. He planted all these soft kisses along Mickey's body and frankly, he didn't have a clue how to react. He watched wordless as Ian carried on his routine of kissing his skin all over, making sure he had got each spot. “What are you doin'?” Mickey asked questionably. 

 

Ian shrugged before planting a kiss just above his heart. “Oh, you know. Just appreciating your body, its quite a masterpiece.” Mickey didn't know If Ian could hear himself rambling but he wasn't going to tell him to shut up. He scoffed at the ridiculous comment that was so,  _Ian Gallagher._ It made him feel slightly guilty that he never really showed his own appreciation for Ian. 

 

Ian had forgotten his previous sexual encounters of the day, he didn't need to remember such a short, and not so sweet, experience when he had what he needed here. An urge is an urge he told himself, not sure whether it was wrong or right, but he felt so high he didn't feel the need to worry. 

 

Mickey palmed Ian's hair, the humming against his stomach causing him to stir. “Well if ya showing a bit of appreciation, you might wanna go lower.” That smirk told him everything. Ian felt high as a kite when Mickey smiled; it was rare but it was perfect.


	11. Tell me if you need a loving hand to help you fall asleep tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11) Helping them when they are sick + Holding their hand

Overall, Mickey was having the shittest day of days, Kev had made him work all hours; Punching fuckers who didn't want to pay for their weekly handjobs, because their wives wouldn't fulfil their sexual desires; Banging onto the electricity meter for a couple more hours of heating; Not only that, he made him tend the bar and kick out assholes who were wasting their lives away in the bottom of a pint glass. Kev had even asked if Mickey could help him change the nappy of one of the twins; a total decline, he didn't want shit all over him, despite how shitty the day already was. The only thing he _knew_ that would brighten the draining day back up again, was a certain Redhead. A crack of a joke or a split of a smile would make him want to rethink what he took for granted; because lets be honest, Ian, somehow, made him want to be better. Maybe not treat people better, but to look at life in a better way. The Gallagher way. 

 

So when he opened the door to the Milkovich house he was expecting a giddy Gallagher with a vast amount of energy, bundling around the room like a rocket; Obviously he hadn't expected to hear pin drop because the atmosphere was so fucking dead. Well, until he heard a violent gip come from the direction of the bathroom; followed by a low Russian mumble. He rather had a baby who puked like a grown man, or his Russian wife was rifling her way around the house moaning about everything was cluttered and things weren't baby proof. It couldn't have been the second one because they had made sure everything the baby could shoot, stab or drown himself with was put away; They had a cabinet for their guns for fuck sakes. 

 

He followed the sound determined to hope that his baby hadn't transformed into an adult in the space of a day; once he found himself at the closed door of the bathroom, he already heard the baby cry from Svetlana's room. So what the fuck was going down in his loo? Pushing the door open he heard a hiss from behind it. 

 

“You fuckin' piece of shit,” He stood unguilty as Svetlana squeezed her back from where the door had hit it. He took in all he could see; Ian sprawled around the toilet, his head practically in the bowl. Svetlana had her hand on his back, smoothly rubbing against his spine; There were two glasses of water, one at Ian's feet the other in Svetlana's hand. He winced as the smell hit him, but protection mode suddenly kicked in. 

 

“What the fuck is going on?” He knew by the smell that Ian had been drinking. The whiff of whisky was invading his nose like a familiar plague and he felt the anger vile up in his chest. He wasn't angry that Ian had had a couple of drinks, that would just make him a hypocrite, it was the fact that he knew Ian had gone down to the fairytale; probably lap danced a fair few viagriods, scored a couple of tips; put himself in danger because Mickey wasn't there to scare off the creepy fucks. “You gonna tell me or I gotta ask comatose over there?” 

 

“He came home drunk, shouting shit all over the place.” Svetlana gestured exaggerating as her other hand continued to sooth Ian who was groaning against the toilet seat. “He puke up, he won't drink water.” she aggressively pushed the glass into his chest, before crouching down to Ian's level and mumbling some gibberish in his ear. Mickey watched the little interaction, still confused how they suddenly got so close, it was nice on some levels. 

 

“Take care of Orange boy, I take care of baby.” She nodded towards Ian who had slumped himself into the side of the toilet, she patted his back before leaving the way Mickey had entered. He stood like a twat in the doorway; clutching to a spilled glass of luke warm water staring at his grumbling boyfriend, wondering how the fuck he could let him get like that. Huffing releasing his annoyance, he placed the water on the side of the bath before pulling at Ian's shoulder to keep him up right. 

 

“No-Jus' leave me alone.” Ian muttered out, his hand failing to hit Mickey's firm hands away. His head was heavy against his body and his eyes were tightly closed. Mickey sighed remaining a grip of Ian pulling him up so if he was sick again it would actually land in the bowl this time. “No, Just- Mick?” He peeped on eye open, blood shot to fuck, then he knocked his head against the seat groaning ashamedly.

 

“Yeh its fuckin' me sick guts- keep your head by the toilet.” He lifted Ian once again, feeling the younger boy clear up a little bit by his voice. In this situation he wasn't entirely sure what to do; he was used to drinking, fuck he had been doing it since he was 13, he didn't have to deal with puking. “What the fuck you been drinking? You know not to drink when you have those med's.”

 

Ian opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was watered down sick, the bowl slowly filling up with his days worth of toxins. Mickey rubbed at his back, the boy beside him shaking endlessly and his skin becoming extremely hot. As soon as Ian repositioned himself, his body shifting closer to the warmth that Mickey had, he was able to slur some sort of language out. 

 

“I don't- I don't know.” Mickey ducked to see Ian's face, his knees crashing against Ian's. He could see the tears streaming down his face, and as one dripped against his closed hand he felt the fire within them. Ian began to breath intensely harder, the sound of him wailing began to overthrow Yevgeny's in the other room. Mickey was shit with comfort, especially drunken comfort, and all he could think of was too run his hands through the red, fiery hair hoping that Ian was done puking his insides out; the smell was getting worse he had to believe that. 

 

“I'm sorry Mick.” Ian repeated over and over again, his head rolling against the cold surface. Mickey didn't have a clue why Ian had to be sorry, yes he was stinking out the whole fucking house, but a little bit of spray could sort that shit out. However, each time the redhead said it, it sounded more intended; that there was something extremely important that Ian was letting onto; Mickey just blamed it on the booze, it fucked Ian up, big time. “I-1-

 

“Shut up. Drink this fucking water and I can get you to bed, yeah?” He wrapped his arm around Ian's waist, the gesture becoming more frequent nowadays. The domestic feeling was creeping up but he pushed it back down as Ian spewed the water he had tried to keep down back into the toilet bowl. “Fuck, Ian.” 

 

Ian began to cry again, leaning his head back against Mickey's chest. Mickey had decided that  _this_ drunk Ian is not one he wanted to see; it reminded him way too much of when he had found him at the club. Finally Mickey managed to get Ian to stop being sick; a few stutters of sweet words and rubbing of his back, Ian had finally restored his breathing and was able to curl into Mickey's warmth. But, Mickey wasn't going to sleep on the fucking tiled floor of his bathroom, they were getting up.

 

“Come on mumbles, we ain't sleeping on this cold ass fucking floor.” He lifted himself from Ian's arms his hand slowly, obliviously, slipping into Ian's. At this point he was too tired to even care; what he did care about though was that Ian was a heavy fucker and he wasn't responding to the tugs Mickey was pulling against him. “ _Gallagher.”_

 

Ian's eyes shot up at the nickname, Mickey always knew he would respond to that. He shook his head, his loose hand falling a little from Mickey's grasp until the older boy caught it mid-fall. “I can't get up.” He looked towards his oddly positioned legs, frowning as if was the craziest thing he had ever seen. Mickey looked up to the ceiling, wondering how the fuck Ian could get this bad; oh wait, he already knew. Creepy fucks were most likely pawning him with cocktails and spiked vodka's. 

 

Mickey groaned impatiently, this was not going anywhere unless he took control of the situation. He bent down against his knees, pulling Ian closer with the left strength he had of the day. “I'm getting you up whether you bitch about it or not” He wrapped his right arm around Ian's waist, hoisting him up so they were both standing. The first couple of attempts resulting in Ian's legs buckling beneath him so Mickey had to lean him against his own bodyweight; the things he fucking does for Ian Gallagher. 

 

Once they were standing he chucked Ian's free arm over his shoulder, instinctively clutching to his palm to reduce any fall. Ian resisted trying to pull his hand away from the cold palm. Mickey gripped it harder, motioning to him that they were going to start moving. Once they did it came particularly easier; If you call a tall ass lanky fucker leaning against your small frame easy. 

 

“Hold my hand you bastard, I don't do this shit often so take this as one of Mickey Milkoviches one of a kinds.” He pulled them both towards his bedroom door, he popped his head towards the direction of Svetlana's room noticing the sheer silence of not having the baby screaming. Even though Ian was clearly intoxicated and fucked for speech entirely, he still managed to let out a snort after Mickey spoke; somewhere in the brunettes chest he felt that tinge he always felt, because Ian fucking Gallagher could do that to him. 

 

He helped strip down Ian to his boxers, also doing the same. Gently he pulled them both under the covers and made sure Ian was snuggled against his chest. Each breath Ian took he awaited for it to get slower and more relaxed; he was not sleeping till he knew Ian was still alive at least. The redhead shifted so his face was smothered in Mickey's scent, his breath tickling Mickey in a way he always felt  _home._

 

_You taken him to see that doctor yet?_ The words kept ringing in his mind. Ian didn't seem like himself; drinking all over the place, becoming more reckless than he had ever seen him; repeating he was sorry for things Mickey didn't even recall. It was worrying him; he was scared that soon Ian would lie in the bed for another week; not eating, not drinking just sleeping until Mickey tried to talk to him. As he ran his fingers over the bumps of Ian's elbows he took in consideration the advice Fiona and Lip had given him; but he didn't want those doctors treating him like shit, telling him he was crazy. 

 

He felt Ian shift him out his thoughts, he kissed the top of his head; he felt the way that slowly, but surely, their roles over the years were starting to switch; He just didn't want to loose Ian, not now he just got him fucking back.


	12. So we remain the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Person B trying to storm out in the middle of an argument with Person A, but they end up slamming straight into a door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a prompt, and I just had to fit this in here. 
> 
> Kev is my spirit animal

“Hey Ian, you okay?” Veronica was busy pouring him yet another drink; he had been there most of the day she had been working, she was stressed with looking after the twins; fucking Kev could deal with it for one day. Ian had only just started drinking an hour before; she had stopped him from asking for Vodka neat after Fiona told her he was meant to be on his med's.

 

Ian glanced up from the mess he had newly formed with the bowl of nuts. “Yeh I'm good. Why wouldn't I be?” He slightly snapped at her; he didn't mean it, he was just sick of people asking him if he was doing okay, like he was some fucking baby who needed looking after all the time.

 

V turned on her heel facing Ian with a half glass of very light Vodka and coke. “Now don't use that tone with me, I ain't Frank aight?” She tutted her teeth until she turned to the slam of the door. It was pretty weird; she had kicked out all the smack head drunks forty minutes before, but she could of guessed who the anger was flowing off.

 

Ian took her direction, following her eyes to the stomping feet leading up to his stool. He groaned knowing that whatever had happened he was going to get a lecture for it. Mickey slammed his hand against the bar, not looking at Ian until V replied with a glass of Jack Daniels.

 

They ignored each other for a couple of seconds before Mickey suddenly exploded. “What the fuck did I tell you about drinking on your med's?!” He didn't want to sound like a persistent Sheila wanna-be but Ian had been missing, yet again, all day and the only place he found him at was the Alibi, most likely drunk out of his nut. V eyed them crossing her arms at the violent outburst; she had to see this, hopefully they would make out afterwards.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Mickey I don't need you to babysit me.” Ian retorted back, sipping his drink cautiously now Mickey was continuing to stare him down. They all kept on creeping on him, checking if he was okay, _he was okay, surely. He was running around, that's what he did. He didn't need people fucking checking on him like he could crumble any minute._ He wasn't Monica. Even though he liked feeling that Mickey cared he still wanted his self sufficiency. 

 

Mickey bit back his next words, locking them away with the rest of his Terry Milkovich inspired outbursts. He clenched and let go his fist against the bar surface, nodding towards V to signal he had this; he needed to do this himself. “Did you forget what fucking happened last time, do you  _ think  _ I want to be cleaning up your drunk ass every night?” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth; he knew which way Ian was going to take it, and he wished it wasn't there at all to take. 

 

“Well you don't have to fucking stay Mickey, I haven't got you hostage or some shit like that!” Ian pushed the stool from under him, ignoring how Veronica flinched against her position by the back of the bar. Before he spoke again he downed his remaining drink, he winced against the little burn wishing it cut worse down his throat; can't always get what you want. 

 

Before Ian could push past Mickey the smaller boy caught his wrist, his grip hard; fingers going white against his pale skin. Veronica had her eyes on them like a hawk, ready to say something but kept it back as she heard Mickey's voice go from thunder to delicate snow. “Now you know that's not a fucking option.” Ian's eyes had glazed over he bit his lip to try barricade them from falling. 

 

“I didn't take them.” Ian quietly confessed, ducking his head in shame because he knew how hard Mickey had been working to get the specific set of pills; including Iggy stealing from the local hospital, shit, he knew how much they had been working for him, but he couldn't help and want to feel  _ alive  _ for once. “I know how hard you've worked fo-

 

Mickey rubbed his fingers over his temple, the itch for a cigarette more then interment, “Why the fuck haven't you taken them? Do you have any idea how much-

 

“I know how much you have worked for them Mickey, I just wanted to- Just-

 

Mickey tilted his head confusedly, “No you fucking idiot. Do you have any idea how much Fiona and your dick brother have been busting my balls so you will take them? Jesus Ian.” He  _ felt  _ there was something up with Ian, he felt safer and better when he was taking the med's; Fiona and Lip may be douches sometimes, but they  _ knew  _ this Bi-polar shit, they knew the symptoms and what to look for. Mickey had no knowledge, at all. However, what he did know was that if he told Ian he  _ needed  _ to take them, if he told him he was different than usual; Ian would run, Ian would think the only person, who was there to protect him, was against him. But, he knew that Ian needed to know. 

 

Ian watched more interested than before, Mickey could sense the denial spread across the Redheads face. “I don't need them, it was being at that club. All that coke it fucked with my head, Mick.” He ran his hand through his hair, noticing Veronica eyeing them wearily. 

 

“Oh, and having some shots clear all that shit up, right?” Mickey rolled his shoulders back, knowing that sooner or later they would just make up and fuck like always. For now, he needed to make sure Ian was going to take his , even if Ian didn't need them, he needed to know that Ian was safe. “You know, you're really starting to sound like Frank.” 

 

 

Veronica winced at the words, the Gallagher’s were never to be compared to their dad. Especially Ian, Frank beat him up to plum; no way was Ian, Frank. Ian pushed at Mickey's chest, distancing them with anger. Mickey could call him all the names under the sun, but not fucking  _ Frank.  _ “Fuck you.” he spat out, scratching at his cheek; something else Mickey had noticed was becoming more frequent. 

 

“Fuck me? Well you could but you can carry on sorting your coke fucking head out.” Mickey barged past him, heading towards the door backwards. “Go on have your fucking shots, then come h-

 

Before they all knew it Mickey was hit by the door, sending him crashing against the wall and slumping, groaning against the floor. Kev swung through, two babies in his arms. He hadn't noticed he had squished Mickey in the meantime and carried on his day to day activities. 

 

“V, she pooped! The baby mom's were right! Poopy, poopy, poopy!” He began to sing, carelessly swaying up to the bar with the twins on each hip. Veronica busted into laughter, Ian quickly following. The redhead was nearly led next to the stool on the floor, clutching his sides to contain himself. “Wait, what did I miss something that is better than my baby girl pooping?” 

 

They laughed each time as they heard the distant grunt. Ian pulled himself closer to the bar, holding himself up before his laughs took him to the ground. Each time he tried to speak it caught him back up; Mickey had just been hit in the face, by a door, mid-speech. It had been the best thing he had seen this week so far; the week before Mickey had stood on a plug in the middle of his rantathon about having no bacon. Veronica nodded her head towards the slumped figure emerging from the swinging door. 

 

Kev popped his head to the side, knocking his mind back and forth. “Mickey why are you sitting on the floor, we have chairs for a reason you know.” He was morally confused, Mickey looked in pain; had he eaten a spicy curry or something? Maybe he was having his man period, he had read about them when he tried looking for tips for sore nipples. 

 

“Oh, he's just a fucking idiot. Ain't that right Mickey?” Ian was still laughing, making his way over to Mickey who was slowly, but failing, to drag himself up. 

 

“Fuck you Gallagher, you are still dead meat when we get back” Mickey mumbled, allowing Ian to help him stand on solid ground. His back was stinging, and his face felt like a truck had hit it. “And fuck you.” He pointed his shaking finger towards Kev who still had a confused look sprawled across his face; How could they all not feel his excitement for Baby poop. 

 

Kev shook his head from side to side, as if he was looking for answers. “What the hell did I do?” he rocked the baby against his hip, a smile breaching on his lips because he  _ finally  _ got what happened. Then he burst into a barrel of laughs, receiving the biggest glare he had ever seen from a very flustered Mickey Milkovich. Ian carried on chuckling, before waving and dragging his grumpy boyfriend through the door that had so, cold heartedly smashed him right in the face. 

 

“Why the fuck are handles even invented. Scrap that, why the fuck were doors invented, they are death traps.” Mickey was already on his rant spree as soon as they hit the cold, he rubbed at his head that the handle had recklessly hit against. “Fuck them fucking doors. I'm taking that door off his hinges!” 

 

Ian pulled the older boy closer, the lingering thoughts of the deadly med's still in his mind, but he kissed his head anyway. “You tell that door Mickey, I'm  _ sure _ its scared of your short ass.” 

 

Mickey still had the strength to smack the redhead, he jabbed his finger into his side harshly resulting in a squirming Gallagher, which he never get fed up of. “You're already on my fucking shit list, you want to bump up your ranking?” 

 

Ian laughed loudly, ducking as Mickey's fist flew through the air.  _ Fuck the Vodka, this made him feel alive. Oh, Yes Mickey wincing each time he tried to grip onto Ian's coat. Yes, that makes me alive.  _

 


	13. Thou greatest fever , when we kisseth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13) Buy gifts for eachother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this would be food, plus I have a chicken kebab and Its fucking gorgeous. 
> 
> title has nothing to do with it doh, lul

It was friday and yet, Ian was stuck in watching cable Tv that had been repeated over the past week. It was just by 8pm and the Milkovich house was quiet, unusually quiet. Ian felt as if he was in limbo as each person made they dues and left one by one; Svetlana had took Yev with her and Nika to some woman's house, Iggy was busy out fucking the local neighbourhood whore; Mandy was hanging out with Lip, strangely as the two hadn't stopped arguing for the past three days. Mickey was meant to home from work, only a couple of minutes before, not that Ian was keeping track.

 

To pass the dragged time, because he only worked late shifts behind the bar in the club, he had made a walk to the takeout. Usually, on Fridays they were so tired and exhausted from a week full of tending errands and beating the fuck out of delayed payers, that cooking wasn't a basic function; if they tried they would end up burning the house and they needed it to have _at least_ one place they could fuck. Even if Iggy had accidentally walked in on them and nearly fainted at the sight.

 

He sat on the couch with his hands in his lap, his phone was dead, the Tv was a pile of wank; he was bored shitless and Mickey was late. Then he heard the door slam shut. Mickey was never subtle when making an entrance, just by hearing his grunt you could automatically know it was him. “Mick?” he called out, the smell of the food in the kitchen turning his stomach; fuck he was hungry.

 

“What?” He heard with a grunt, Mickey had emerged from the door a plastic bag clasped in his hands. His face was red from the breeze of the tough wind, that single piece of hair falling against his forehead. Ian wasn't going to blurt it out, because a punch to the face wasn't his true desire, but Mickey did look _beautiful_ when flustered and all tired out; Sometimes Ian couldn't even control himself round the sight of him. 

 

“I, er, got you something.” Ian stuttered, pushing himself off of the couch and over to the kitchen. Mickey followed removing his scarf and leaving it astray on the back of the couch. “It's friday so-

 

“That's fuckin' weird because I got somethin' for you.” Mickey slammed his bag against the counter top, the sound not as hard as Ian had expected it. For some strange reason the two bags next to each-other looked identical, the bags were even the fucking same. _Strange world._ Ian though, laughing it off as his face lit up. Mickey rolled his eyes at the grinning redhead. 

“You did?” Ian looked like a ten year old, his smile bigger than his face and his eyes wider than his head. Mickey watched him fuss about, the way the Redhead was so fucking oblivious and couldn't see what the hell was going on; instead he was rummaging through plates to find clean ones, and already reaching into his own bag. 

 

“Don't get too excited about it. It's just food, Jeez.” Mickey took out the two boxes from within his bag, placing them on the two plates that Ian had just put against the counter. He felt Ian look from side to side, trying to work out how there were two sets of the same food; had Mickey made a machine that duplicated food, did he have a 3D printer somewhere? “What the fuck you looking at?”

 

“Wait, I got you food too.” Ian pulled out identical boxes from his bag. Piling them on top of the boxes Mickey had just took out. The taller boy still looked confused; somehow his brain couldn't compute that he and Mickey had bought the _same_ food, for eachother. “You remembered my order;That's so _cute.”_ he suddenly burst out, knocking his shoulder against Mickey's. Mickey had remembered what he liked. 

 

Mickey snorted, opening the two boxes he had and already started picking at his chicken kebab. He watched as Ian opened his own pouring  _ way  _ too much vinegar on his chips. “It's not fuckin' cute, its just logistics. This order is what should be sold everyday, all day, forever.” He sang towards the food, his lips curled up into a smile. Ian was such a fucking, annoying, beautiful little fucker. “Plus, if I didn't buy you any you would steal my food, and no one, not even Ian Gallagher is taking this meat.” 

 

“That's a bit ambitious. That kebab looks like a dead foot.” Ian scowled towards Mickey who was already making his way over to the couch. They both sat side by side, their elbows touching as they leaned to eat their food. Mickey used his elbow to hit Ian, knocking his fork out of his hand. 

 

“Shut the fuck up. This is better than sex.” Mickey nodded, wrapping a string of meat onto his fork and then shoving it into his mouth; before he knew it he was eating with his fingers, who eats kebab with a fucking fork? He regretted saying it, he could sacrifice a kebab for Ian's dick, hell, he would do _anything_ for that dick. 

 

Ian turned towards him, eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on his face. “Oh, really? You want to test that?” He had that look in his eye, the  _ glint  _ against his pupil. Mickey knew that look, it told him that he was defiantly getting some tonight, and he wasn't talking about a chicken kebab. Ian placed his half eaten food onto the coffee table; his fork absently falling against the surface. He slid up next to Mickey who was entirely engrossed in his chicken kebab, he brought his fingers up to Mickey's thigh, slowly walking them along his jeans.

 

“Man, I'm trying to eat here.” Obviously, he could feel his sudden hard on spring his pants, rubbing against the fabric of his jeans; but he wasn't going to play easy, he knew Ian liked to play rough. He scooped up a vast amount of kebab meat and tilted his head back so he could fit it all in his mouth; slowly licking his lips because, fuck, he did like making Gallagher hot and heavy. 

 

Ian continued his ritual of dancing fingers, moving closer to the bulge in his pants.  _ That fucker just knew how to do it, didn't he.  _ He licked a stripe along Mickey's open neck, doing all he could to distract Mickey from eating the pile of food on his lap. But fuck, it was hard to direct Mickey away from food; he could atleast try, hoping that his fingers would still be there by the end of it. “You could always eat something else?” He winked, again licking a strip now against the brunettes jaw. 

 

“Knock it off, nothing is spoiling this kebab.” He playfully pushed Ian away, trying to hide his smile within the bundle of meat falling into to his mouth. Ian giggled next to him, his hands making their way around Mickey, as usual they knew which spots to touch. “Seriously man, your dick might work miracles but its not good enough to eat, alright?” Mickey lied, Ian's dick was _good,_ more than fucking good. 

 

This time Ian palmed Mickey's twitching dick, he felt Mickey groan under his hands. His skin tingled against the touch, Ian was such a smug fucker; with a stupid fucking face that could make him cum without touching him. “Fuck it, but we better make it quick, I want warm chicken after this.” Ian chuckled and pushed Mickey to the back of the couch, the kebab strayed on top of the side table.

 

“I'm going to fucking show you what a kebab can't do.” _Thank fuck he was._


	14. I fell in love and it hurt me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14) Sleeping together without having sex (me being me I went down the sad route)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously a longer one, but I had no idea how to make this shorter so yeh.
> 
> (Probably going to post this as a solo fic aswell)

“Hey Mickey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Kev called from wherever the fuck he was. Mickey had been rudely interrupted while playing pool; he had finally been able to have a break from shouting at whores and knocking the fuck out of creeps, but Kev was always on his ass about something. 

 

He chucked the pool queue onto the table, groaning from the other players echoing throughout the bar. Mickey flipped them off and followed the sound of Kev's voice which took him to the small room, which Kev has previously threatened him with a gun. “What the fuck you want?” he snapped, closing the door behind him and guessing that Kev was probably trying to be the big man again. “You gonna pull out a gun again?”

 

Kev placed his hands on his hips, one reaching up to wipe below his nose. “What, do you  _ want  _ me too?” He fidgeted around, his hands playing around with scraps off the wall. Would he hell risk trying to shoot Mickey again, he had seen how the Milkovich nearly killed a guy last week; fuck being tall, he would be taken down in a second. “Anyway, I – er saw Ian yesterday.”

 

Mickey laughed meanly, his hand wiping at the corner of his mouth which still had lingering alcohol. “You do know you live in the same neighbourhood as him, right?” he spoke sarcastically, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of man stood before him; why the fuck was he even listening to this, maybe Kev was just lonely, or spending too much time looking after babies. 

 

“Fuck _sakes.”_ Kev turned with his hands running through his long hair, Mickey had never seen him so speechless; Kev could speak for days, he was like Ian. Machine gun mouth, shooting irrelevant shit wherever it could hit. “I saw him at the supermarket.” Like that was going to clear things up. 

 

“I _really_ do love hearing your daily routine Kev, but isn't that what diaries are fucking for?” he laughed sarcastically. Kev shot him a glare, but Mickey carried on with his laughing; because why the fuck was he even telling him this, why would Mickey want to know, seriously. 

 

Kev used his palms to rub his eyes, this was way too stressful. “No you dumbass. I saw him with a guy in the back doing the quick one-two” He wasn't going to do the action, fuck that. But Mickey was still looking at him like he was alien and all the shit he was saying was just a spout of bullshit. 

 

“Quick one-two?” Mickey asked confused now, rather concerned; one, where the hell was Kev hearing this shit, and two, why the fuck was Ian with “some guy” in the back of a supermarket. His stomach dropped, assuming the worst. But no, he wasn't going to believe it; Ian had worked hard to get Mickey to open up, why would he just bump another guy. 

 

The bigger man huffed in frustration, he never knew explaining the easiest situations was the hardest fucking thing in the world. “You know, a cash in hand situation?” he should just say it, he knew he should of. Mickey was just rocking against his toes, mouth opening and closing in confusion. 

 

“What, he owed someone somethin?” Mickey felt dumb now, he wasn't sure where the hell Kev was getting at. One minute his heart felt like it was shrinking, now it was a ball of anger because if Ian owed a guy something, it was most likely drugs, or something worse. “What the fuck are you getting at?” his frustration matched the man before him. 

 

Kev cursed to himself, hitting glances to Mickey's angered bewilderment. “They were tugging each other off, okay!” he shouted it through his tired feeling building in his chest. At one point he had told himself that he wasn't going to tell Mickey, he knew that shit like that might break a relationship; he didn't want to be  _ that  _ person. However, he cared for the both of them; like they were his own little sons, creepy as it sounds. “I tried to tell Ian that I would kick his ass for cruising him, but he shoved it off like he always does. I didn't know aright, I would of stopped it.” 

 

Mickey didn't know what to think. For a small confession, it was a lot to take in. Ian had been that domestic, loved up, freak the exact same morning. It all explained his sudden outburst that night. Hell, he felt his heart dropping to the pits of his stomach that was filled with anger. Ian had cheated, that's what it was right? Fuck. He had gone and done It. He wasn't going to cry, he never fucking cried. But he couldn't just let it all eat at him, he couldn't push it off just because he  _ could  _ have the disorder. In which, he was starting to consider through Fiona's explanation of hyper-sexuality or promiscuity. After the talk with her he didn't feel too bad, she had said that Ian was most likely going to take the route and having more sex with Mickey, other than roaming the streets for random fuckers to show them a good time. It looks like jinxing something was real. 

 

Kev stepped up to say something else but Mickey stopped him with a stern hand. He had to find this out for himself. “Mickey, fuck sake don't go too hard on him” Kev called out, making Mickey's nose flare because Ian may yes, be ill, but he wasn't the only victim in this scenario, Mickey could hurt too. 

 

Before he knew it he was already pushing open the door to the familiar house, without exchanged words he marched past the couch Ian was occupying and headed straight for the bathroom. Once locked in and the feeling in his chest was pushing harder, he held his hands against the sink hoping that somehow, it could keep him upright. “Stiffen the fuck up, Mickey.” he told himself, slapping his cheeks a couple of times to make himself fully aware. He stared at himself, wait- why the fuck was he even hiding.  _ This is his house, this is where he fucking lives. Why the fuck was he hiding? _

 

He harshly grabbed the door knob, swinging it open to come face to face with Ian. “Hey, you okay? You look pretty beat.” Ian's soft voice made his body warm, the voice like a rush-  _ pull it together Milkovich, you gotta speak your mind.  _ Ian looked hurt at the sudden ignore and continued to follow Mickey to their bedroom. “Mickey?”

 

Mickey didn't answer, he didn't want too. He knew if he lashed out that he would see that hurt in Ian's eyes, it was still building in his chest; all piling up like a fragile game of jenga, soon to fall to pieces. He chucked through some clothes, in search for his bottle of Jack's he had lobbed in pure lust a while back; maybe drink would sort this shit out, maybe it would speak for him too. Ian tried to grab Mickey's arm, but he flung it back, all he could think about was that hand wrapped around some other guys cock. 

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Ian pushed himself closer to Mickey, frowning as the unusually behaved brunette downed a couple of gulps from his bottle of Whisky. 

 

“When you came to pick me up from that job, why were you late again?” His voice felt smoother, as if they were having a normal conversation. But he knew Ian would just shrug it off; no one ever liked admitting to cheating, especially to Mickey Milkovich. 

 

Ian tilted his head, morally confused why the hell Mickey was acting so weird. “I told you, it was busy.” He jumped as Mickey brought the bottle back up to his lips; wincing as he watched the smaller boys Adam’s apple bob with the alcohol, Mickey hadn't drank in weeks, so something was seriously going on. “I had to pick up a few things, you know that.” 

 

Mickey gulped another proportion of Jacks, laughing insanely at Ian's comment. “Oh,  _ Yeh  _ I remember. I guess tugging on some fuckers cock was a bonus, ay?” His burst at the end of the sentence, violently chucking the bottle against the wall so it smashed to the floor. “I didn't know they did special offers on strangers dicks, but ay apparently the whole world wants a piece of Ian Gallagher.” 

 

Ian curled his arms around himself, flinching as the glass shattered in the sheer silence. The motion to speak was extinct, he didn't know how to tell Mickey; how to explain what the fuck was going on. Mickey was breathing hard, his eyes roaming for any thing to hit other than Ian, he did that once and was still regretting it, to that day. “See, what I don't fucking get is that you  _ begged  _ me to give you everything. And yet your going out jacking off some other guy as if I'm not even trying!”

 

Ian stuttered not sure what to do with his hands, at the time jerking the guy off seemed like a good idea, but his mind had taken over; his impulses had taken over, he had forgotten completely about his responsibilities, and he had been regretting it ever since. “It wasn't like that, It meant nothing, I just- 

 

“ _fuck._ I know you have this shitty disorder thing going on, but you still have fucking choices. You are still you, and I fucking _know_ you.” Mickey was now jabbing him in the chest, his insides screaming out. “I know that in the past I had been with people while we were fucking, but that was then and this is now. How the fuck can you not see that I'm giving you _everything_ here.”

 

Ian opened his mouth to speak, he wanted to explain himself; he saw the pain in Mickey's eyes, and he could feel the anger inside of him. What had he done. Mickey jolted him to a stop, he wasn't finished yet. Ian had ripped out his heart and chucked it in the bin, he realised that Ian wasn't himself, he knew that. He knew that he couldn't just walk away from him because he tugged a quickie behind a supermarket; but he still hurt too, he could still feel. “I had to find out from fucking Kev, you know you could had the decency to  _ actually  _ tell me- Maybe, then I wouldn't be this fucking hurt.” He whispered the last bit, not wanting to sound weaker than he actually felt. 

 

“I'm sorry Mick. My mind - it was telling me to do all this shit, I- I can't control it. You don't understand what's going through my head right now.” He gripped at the red strands of hair that had recklessly fell from its gelled up position. His eyes followed as Mickey stormed to the door, adjusting his coat like he was read y to fight. “Mickey don't go, we have to sort this out!”

 

Mickey ignored his pleading, then he kicked at the door, his foot almost crashing through it, instead it caused a large crack. “I don't wanna hear it.” He swung the door that Ian had aimlessly closed, the wood hitting against the wall beside it. “You need to realise your responsibilities Ian, I'm not your fucking tool.” he barged his way out the way he had formally came. All he needed was some good joints and some good beer, anything to block out the image of Ian with another guy. 

 

Ian stood in silence, his arms making their way around his Skinner body, now it was all settling in. The regret, the guilt; He had hurt Mickey, despite how much the older boy shouted. Shit,  _ he wouldn't love him after this, he hates him. _ Ian sprang his thoughts back to negative; feeling the darkness slowly creep back up on him, it was waiting and he let it come back. He let it take over him like every time. He deserved this. 

 

Mickey wasn't really angry; he did feel the heat rise in his chest and the flare of his nose, but he wasn't angry, not at Ian. He was fucking angry at the stupid disorder, it made him want to bounce against the walls and fuck everything in sight, it made him forget who fucking cared about him. It stuck him in bed for days without saying a word; it made him push Mickey away. 

 

He let himself behind the bar, not making eye contact with Kev who was concernedly watching him, he didn't want to hear it. All he wanted to feel was, the numbness of his body, something that would wash the anger away. He wasn't that angry, he fucked it up now. God, as soon as that wall had been broken down it was slowly plastering itself up; It felt as if a gap had replaced the trust he had with Ian, a hole created by the guy who touched him, it burned through his skin he could feel it.

 

Ian just made a stupid mistake. Mickey had fucked numerous of people when they had been apparently “seeing” each other; Ian makes one mistake and he has to take the hit from the whole world. Mickey felt the guilt creep in, he had left Ian, alone with his own mind. A quick fucking tug behind a store was nothing; Mickey knew that, but it was always his Terry Milkovich genes that pushed him to take it to the extreme. He hadn't forgiven Ian, fuck no, but he couldn't just leave him- not after all the mistakes Mickey had pulled, Ian had done nothing compared to that. But cheating is cheating, he was scared he might not beable to trust Ian like he used to.

 

He had downed a bottle of Jacks, smoked a couple of joints; he was fucking baked. He believes he is sat in a booth in the alibi, but he's not too sure. The echo of Kev's voice is telling him enough that he hadn't moved for at least three hours. Instinctively, he felt he needed to text Ian. No matter how hurt, or angry he was he still needed him to be okay. From the day he had found him in the club he had vowed, secretly, to himself that he had to protect Ian, at all costs. The vow he kept only kept with himself, he was too pussy to even tell Ian.

 

_**To Ian:** Take Ur fuckin pills _

 

There was no reply back, but he wasn't too surprised by that. Kev had helped him home, waved him off as he walked the other way. Mickey had stepped through the door, the whole house covered in darkness. He crept over to the kitchen pulling out the tablets that were stashed in the back of the cabinet; only in reach for adults, especially Ian's long limbs. He counted the left pills, he remembered 25 being left, Ian had to take two. Drunkly, but aware, he counted the remaining. He smiled to himself, counting only 23, Ian had taken his pills and for the first time that day he felt as if things were going his way. 

 

He got to their room, the shadow of Ian's turned body away from his stare. He still hadn't forgiven Ian, he was still angry to fuck. He could still imagine some other guys hand on Ian's cock, making him moan like Mickey wanted him to. But he couldn't just run away; he knew what that was like and it was bullshit. Running away was for pussies, he had to keep telling himself that because leaving would be the easier option. 

 

He pulled his clothes off, failing to remove his boxers because he didn't want to feel like that tonight. He slid under the covers, turning his back away from Ian's. There was a huge space between them, the cold quickly going through the lifted blanket. Mickey sighed against his pillow, shedding only a couple of tears because seriously, he didn't cry. The warmth he wished he could have was on the other edge of the bed, but he couldn't push himself to catch it, not yet. First he needed to erase the image of another guy on Ian, he needed to rid of that to get rid of the hurt brewing in his chest; making it tighter so it pained him to even move. He didn't feel like communicating, he didn't feel good enough all together. Ian  _ had  _ Mickey but he went for some other guy, it was a instant implication to Mickey that he wasn't enough; he already knew he was bad for Ian, but that never stopped him. However, this hurt more, way much more.

 

“You want me to go?” Ian whispered from his end of the bed, it was soft, like he had been crying. Mickey winced at that, he hated how he could make Ian cry so easily. 

 

As much as Mickey wanted to beat the crap out of him, he wasn't going to. His mind was reliving Kev's words like a stab in the back, he cursed as he wondered what else Ian could have lied about; what else he might be doing behind closed doors. 

 

Mickey had worked hard for this, pushed himself further than he could ever imagine himself. Ian was  _ his.  _ He just let that slip for a little while, thinking that everything would be alright. But this was fucking  _ them  _ he was thinking about, Nothing had ever been easy for em'. Letting go was not an option, that point of leaving was long gone,left back when he was too scared to be around Ian. Staying was crucial, staying with Ian was important. 

 

“No.” Is all he could answer, he didn't want to say anything else in case the rupture in his chest would explode. He felt that hole burn through his chest, a hole only Ian could fill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From where I'm from we call "Jacking off" either "Tossing off" so I used the ones that usually I use day to day (Quick one-two, and cash in hand) I'm from Blackpool okay we aren't very classy


	15. Beside me, to guide me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15) lie and talk in your underwear.

They hadn't spoken in a week. A fucking  _ week.  _ Ian had gone home to the Gallagher's to give Mickey some space, because it was clear he needed it. When Ian had been in the Milkovich house no one talked to him; he guessed they were all mad at him as much as he was. Mickey wouldn't look him in the eye, just yet, and it was fucking killing him. Most of the week he remained in bed, he couldn't move, he just couldn't. Despite the heat of the summer and his body sticking to the sheets, he still had no chance of moving himself. Lip had come in each day; handing him the pills, putting a plate down, asking him if he's okay, leaves the room. Then its Fiona, then debbie, not so much Carl, but even Liam had attempted to join in his cave beneath the covers. The whole routine, again and again,it was driving him fucking crazy. Staring at the black wall covered in past dreams was turning him insane; he had been looking at the same crack for about five hours now. 

 

There were a couple of mumbles coming from downstairs, but when has the Gallagher house never been full of voices? He ignored them, he didn't want to hear about how they think he's a ticking time bomb; or how the med's aren't working, or that he needs a doctor. They might as well just say it; he was fucking crazy.  _ Crazy. Crazy. Crazy.  _ The word repeated in his head, taunting him to believe that it was true. After a while he once again felt his eyelids droop low. 

 

 

He still hadn't opened his eyes yet, afraid of letting too much light in in case of loosing its touch so quickly. There were a few shuffles from the direction of the door, but he wasn't turning.  _ Crazy. Crazy.  _ It was like a nursery rhyme that stuck. He shifted slightly against the sheets, drawing them further over his head. Before he knew it he heard little mumbles, from what he guessed was from behind the door. 

 

“What the fuck do you mean he hasn't left the bed all week, aren't you supposed to be helping him?!” It was Mickey. Without even having to open his eyes, he just knew. That gruff voice he could notice anywhere. The spine chilling notion hit him, _Why was Mickey there? Was he there to break up?_ It all ticked around in his mind, forwards and back, forwards and back. _Crazy, Crazy._ He shook the words off, waiting for a reply. 

 

“What am I meant to do Mickey? Fucking drag him out by his hair, he isn't a fucking kid anymore.” Ian could hear the panic in Lips voice, how torn and worn down he sounded in to contrast with how he was barely a week ago. See, that's what Ian did, he beat people down. He makes them make stupid commitments to him, leaving them in the gutter, because of _him._ “Can you just go in there and knock some sense in him, _please?”_

 

Ian shook against the sheets, he wasn't ready yet for a confrontation. The last time they had spoken was when Mickey had found out about him cheating; he was scared, scared that Mickey didn't want him no more.  _ Crazy, crazy.  _ He was scared that the fucked up voices in his head would make him believe it. Mickey must of agreed because the next minute he hears the door creak open and a shed of light line across his biceps. Still, he doesn't turn. He feels the dip in small single bed, only just realising how close his body actually was to the wall. 

 

“Gallagher.” He heard, the voice hard and stern. He knew Mickey would do this, try and act as if he _had_ to do it; like some job. But Ian knew him better, Mickey wouldn't just walk all the way over to “do what lip says because he says so”, he doesn't take that bitchy ass bullshit. Ian doesn't respond, he can't find himself to, he doesn't feel worthy of speaking to Mickey. “Hey, dipshit, its fuckin' roasting in here.”

 

He pulled the cover over his bare back, waiting for Mickey to form a reaction. The words weren't forming and he wasn't sure whether they could at all. Suddenly he felt the weight lift off and heard the plant of Mickey's boots against the floor.  _ That's it, he's going. He's had enough. Its over.  _ But Ian must have guessed wrong because Mickey wasn't being the quietest as he could be. 

 

“Fine. You don't wanna talk, I'm getting in there with you.” He could feel the warm skin of the smaller boy press against his back, the way his arm was embraced by Mickey's. He felt their legs tangled, and he had no room to protest so he let it. Mickey soothed his arm, fingertips stroking against the soft skin. He didn't feel like he deserved this. “This heat is fucking killing me.” He peered over the redhead's shoulder, quily bypassing through him. The angry had washed from his system over the week, he was more concerned that Ian wasn't moving more than anything. “Ian?”

 

“I-I can't.” Ian managed to get out, his mouth was jamming shut. He didn't relax under the arms wrapped around him, as much as he wanted too. He didn't want to embrace something that he didn't deserve, he didn't feel worthy enough of that kind of affection. He felt the boy behind him lean his head onto his shoulder, his arm gripping tighter around his waist.

 

One of Mickey's hand curled up to his jaw, soft touches against his skin as he began to cry again. “Look at me.” He felt Mickey whisper against his skin. How could he, he was scared that Mickey hated him; he was scared that if he did turn around he might never see those blue eyes ever again. He shook his head, biting his top lip as more tears leaked out. Mickey persisted him to move, pulling at his shoulder gently. “Hey, look at me.”

 

Ian was too weak to fight about it, he let himself be pulled around, already hiding his face with the sheet around him. Mickey suddenly pulled him to his chest, watching as the Redhead started to crumble against him. He felt the way his body shook violently and he mumbled incoherent words into his skin. Mickey placed his hand on the back of Ian's neck. “What the fuck is going on, why have you been hiding in here like a hermit?” He smiled lightly, his fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

 

Ian ran his fingers over Mickey's bare chest, his eyes never making contact with Mickey's, he had lifted his head only just so he could finally breathe. “I-I'm so-rry, Mick.” He muttered out before pressing his face back into Mickey's chest and crying deeply against him. “I fuckin' cheated on you- I- I, if you wanna break up, I understand.” He felt Mickey's hands stop from his flow of rhythmic strokes.

 

Mickey pushed him up a little bit, Ian was still hiding under the sheet like a little boy scared of the dark; Mickey realised that maybe that was what Ian was. “Breaking u- what the fuck are you talking about? I came here because Lip's been busting my balls all week.” Which had been partly true, Lip had called every single day, only by Mickey's orders, so he could tell him how Ian was doing. Mickey wasn't ready to confront him until today.

 

Ian crumpled more into Mickey's bare chest, shivering as Mickey pulled the sheet slowly away from him. “You fuckin' hate me, I- I know I-” He didn't end up finishing the sentence, he led in pure silence, shaking against Mickey as if the world was falling around him. Mickey had become more welcomed to the comfort of Ian, he followed what he had seen and rubbed at his back, lacing his hand up into his hair.

 

He pulled at the sheet so Ian's head was popping out of it, “I was fucking angry, still fucking angry, you pissed me off big time. But I ain't breaking up with you, Jesus Ian.”He tried his best to make it sound truthful, but it was hard when Ian looked so fragile on him; his eyes sunk in, black rings surrounding them like he had been beat up by whatever was eating at him.

 

“W-hat?” Ian croaked out, lifting his head off Mickey's chest a little. He didn't understand how he could just let him come back, not break up with him. Mickey deserved better, fuck, Ian deserved nothing. “How can you just- do that?” He didn't believe it, after all he did; betraying Mickey's trust, surely he was done for.

 

“I can do what the fuck I want Gallagher.” Mickey snapped, making sure his hand was still soothing him. “Just because you jacked off some twink in a store isn't going to make me disappear, are you forgetting who I am?” Mickey wasn't going to lie, he had thought about it. Not because Ian had hurt him, but because he felt that he was doing this to Ian. He felt that he had turned Ian into this clone of himself that went out doing shit that Ian Gallagher wouldn't usually participate in.

Ian mumbled against his chest, “I hurt you.” He didn't need Mickey to say he did to tell him he had, he could see it in the older boys eyes. He knew that type of hurt. He slid to his side, plastering himself beside Mickey. It had been the first time in days that he had actually turned from his position, and for this reason he felt it was right.

 

Mickey scoffed, clearly trying to laugh it off, “Everyone hurts, and why you acting like I've never hurt your dumb ass?” Mickey stared up to the ceiling he hated to see Ian like this, all child-like and thin, not eating or drinking and it fucked up his mind that he had done this to Ian. He blamed himself, he had always blamed himself.

 

“I'm still sorry.” Ian whispered, his hands drawing shapes into Mickey'skin, his rough hands soothing against the soft touch. He still felt that Mickey could leave, that he had that choice; he didn't want to keep him there if he didn't want to be there, he wanted Mickey to be happy, not run away for a week because he shit boyfriend had jacked off some other guy.

 

“I ain't no pussy Gallagher.” Mickey pointed out, his arm tightening around Ian's shoulder, he felt more protective than usual. He hadn't seen him for a week, he felt like it had been years; seriously, If Ian believed he was going to break up with him, he had another thing coming. “But if you do it again, man, that's it. I ain't a fucking play toy, you can't just go behind my back like that, especially when my kid's there.” he was being serious now, he didn't fully assume the consequences of feeling for someone; he didn't know that people were lying when they said it was all rainbows and smiles. Forgiving someone was one thing, but he was not doing that. Mickey was accepting it, accepting that Ian wasn't himself; that maybe Fiona was right, maybe Ian did have that disorder. But he wasn't going to give up on him, Ian would _never_ give up on Mickey. For once, he was returning the favour.

 

“I know. I won't.” Ian silently pledged, only loud enough for Mickey to hear. He didn't feel like talking because all the shit he had done was coming back to him, he wanted to turn back around face the wall and wait for the normal routine to start. Mickey could leave, have that better life he wanted. He could do all that and not have to babysit him; but he didn't want that.

 

Mickey suddenly kicked away the blanket, laughing as it caught against his foot. “But seriously its fucking hot as balls in here, how did you even _survive.”_ He laughed it off, like he always did. Ian had shattered a part of his heart but he wasn't going to flaunt that; he didn't want Ian hurting like he had, he didn't want him to think that he had done bad. He had, but Mickey didn't give a shit as long as he had Ian. All that time working it out, fighting against Terry, he couldn't just shove him off now. They stayed quiet for a little bit, before yet again Mickey split the silence. “One more thing Ian.”

 

Ian hummed for him to elaborate, a pinch to his spine telling him it might not be good.

 

“You know what else pissed me off?” He waited for a nod or an answer but he didn't get anything. “You locked yourself in here, all week without anyone. Why didn't you get me, or even try speaking to me. Jesus Ian. You scared the shit out of me.” He clutched tighter, not giving a flying fuck about the heat in the room at this moment. There was still that small gap telling him that he wasn't good enough for Ian, but pushing that away was easier than he had though, due to his practice.

 

“I didn't think you'd want to see me.” He confessed quietly, shutting his eyes to push away the distant calls in his head. He felt that fleeting back but Mickey's voice was pulling him back.

 

“When has that ever stopped you, you idiot.” Mickey laughed, his body flushing against Ian's. Ian loved the fact that Mickey was the only one that treated him like he wasn't ill, treated him like he always did. “You are still on my shit list, you know, so you gotta make pancakes when we get up; you fucking owe me, big.” Ian shifted upper onto Mickey's chest, humming against his neck. He wasn't sure if he was ready to leave the bed yet, or that day, but he could still relish the fact of Mickey being _there,_ because he was always there; he just didn't see it until then.


	16. When you want to suck to it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16) One thing- Blowjobs

Ian had woken up pretty early, this time though, he wasn't going to go on his run. He fucking loved summer, not because of the pool parties, and the happiness of no wind or having to wear a coat; because it made his fucking boyfriend look like a greek God when he was sprawled out against the sheets. There was a strip of light that was beaming through the blinds, which Mickey had hammered up two nights before moaning about not being able to see in the morning, it lit against Mickey's bare chest; the sweat glimmering against it. 

 

The brunette was laid on his back one hand over his waist, the other against Ian's chest. His head was placed to the side, his mouth parted beautifully so he could gasp for little gusts of air. His stomach moved up and down with his slow breaths, and Ian could literally, hopelessly, not control himself. Mickey was this gift wrapped up with FUCK-U-UP tattoos and a bunch of “fuck offs” and “cunts” around him. Ian wanted to thank him for that, show him what kind of gift he was. 

 

Carefully he moved so he was gently pressed in between his thighs, his hands trailing against the soft naked skin. Replacing his fingers he kissed faintly against the skin, trailing them up to the smaller boys stomach. Mickey only twitched under the touch, his hand instinctively reaching for Ian who was not beside him; he heard a disgruntled sound coming from him, but the click of Mickey's teeth told him he was still dreaming. 

 

Carrying on, his dick already hard against Mickey's he moved his mouth lower, and lower. He kissed through the curl of pubes, reaching to the spot that he appreciated most. Licking up the shaft he hummed against Mickey's cock, taking him whole without a question or blink of an eye. The hips below him buckled a little, as if they were used to it. He pushed them down smoothly, making sure the force didn't waken Mickey from his slumber. He then licked at the tip of his dick, circulating it a couple of times. Suddenly he felt a frail hand creep into his hair, playing softly with the stuck up strands. 

 

He hummed against it, his hand moving with his mouth as he continued to take him into his mouth. Next thing Mickey is groaning, muffled by his own arm. Ian laughs against his cock, once again licking down and then back up. The slow speed suddenly increased, his head began to bob up and down the sped intensifying the amount of times he had to push Mickey's hips back into place. As much as he liked Mickey fucking his mouth, he wanted to make him cum on his own. And he knew just how to do it. 

 

Mickey's quiet moans were just above him, his hand clutching harder into his red hair. Ian took his mouth away from his throbbing cock, plunging his own finger within his sliva . Slicking it up, he put Mickey's cock back in to place, he licked at the tip longer this time, loving the feel of Mickey starting to unravel beneath him. He was surely glad Mickey had slept naked the night before because this would have been tricky to acomplish, with Mickey's moans in mind, and his mouth still at work he slid his finger with Mickey. 

 

The older boys hips arched from the bed, groaning out in the open for sure. “  _ Fuck,  _ Ian.” he was panting now, rolling his hips against Ian's finger, that moved faster against the beat. Multitasking he grinned as he felt Mickey shake from beneath him, his moans getting shorter and his pants getting heavier. “ _ Shit. Fuck.” _ Mickey carried on cursing, his fingers now gripping onto Ian's shoulders, he was sure he was shredding blood it was that hard. 

 

As soon as Mickey released himself and his foot curled around Ian's back, he freed Ian's head from his hands. Ian let off, a pop echoing from his mouth as he pulled away, he pulled himself further up, planting his chest against Mickey's rather sweaty one. “You like that?” 

 

Mickey was still glowing, his dick still sensitive to touch. “Fuck, I was expecting burnt pancakes. But fuck, that was so much better.” Ian was grinning like a idiot, biting playfully at Mickey's nipples; shit that fucker knew how to get him hard after blowing, in literally 2 minutes flat. “You are amazing you know that?”  _ Shit, did he just say that.  _

 

Ian rested his chin against his chest, his smile turning into a devious grin, “ _ I'm  _ amazing, or are my dick sucking skills?” He knew that Mickey was a little shit, who was always smug after cumming down Ian's throat. But that matched Ian's total ego when he was pounding into the smaller man, they were little freaks in bed. 

 

“Hm, that's quite a hard one.” Mickey pretended to think, tapping his chin as if he was in deep thought.Ian scoffed, pulling away the thugs hands and clapping them together like the child he was. “How about I show you my skills Gallagher? I mean, morning glory hasn't passed yet?” Ian traced Mickey's eyes to the harden cocks that lay between them; Huh, maybe he was right. Pancakes could fucking wait.


	17. The only thing that looks good on me is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17) Wearing each others clothes

Mickey slobbed his way out from his cave, under the covers with a heat wave next to him, he felt the floor for some sort of clothing. First he picked up a pair of Mandy's pants, how the fuck they ended up in there was a mystery he didn't want to proclaim,then he felt the oversized hoodie that he had been wearing for the whole of the week; he was sure it was Ian's, but he didn't give a fuck, it was his now.

 

Ian was still sleeping, but he could sleep all he fucking wanted, Mickey was getting food. He stepped out of the room, a hoodie and a pair of sweats on. He bumped into Iggy on the way, who was staring towards Nika who once again was ironing without a top on; a fucking habit he wished wasn't available. “Where's Lana?” He asked, yawning and taking a beer from the fridge.

 

“She went to see that woman for her scan, she's getting quite a lot of money for having a baby for someone man.” Iggy shook his head, plomping himself onto the chair opposite Nika, like usual. “Why aren't we women, I'd be popping out babies like a machine gun if I could make a couple of bucks.”

 

Mickey scowled towards him, “You are going to get shot one of these days for saying shit like that. Besides, if they find out she's a southside hooker they ain't going to be paying her much.” He turned the cooker on, ready to make his own eggs; because whoever had made them before had made him crave in his sleep.

 

“Well it would be more than she's making at the Rub N' Tug.” Iggy laughed, still eyes clasped on the naked hooker infront of him. Fuck, he lived a good life. Mickey snarled towards him, Iggy was not subtle at all; yet again, none of them really were. “Man, I think that hoodie is a bit big for you.” he was laughing again and Mickey wanted to kick him in the mouth.

 

Mickey looked down to what he was wearing, basic thinking, he saw the way his hands were completely covered, and the way the waist of the hoodie fell down to the middle of his thighs; still, he didn't give a shit. “Fuck off, your head is too fucking big.”

 

Just as his egg spat at him, Mandy trolled in rubbing her eyes from last nights fuck up. She had a bruise against her eye, just above one that was fading. Mickey looked towards Iggy who shrugged, they never asked about it because Mandy had a tendency to go sick; it didn't stop them from threatening Kenyatta at every chance they could.

 

“Why are you wearing Ian's shit, don't you have your own clothes?” Mandy smirked, knowing full well what she was doing. She nabbed Mickey's fully cooked eggs and dipped some bread into them, rejecting the punch that he had so hopefully wanted to hit her on the arm with.

 

“Fuck you bitch.” Mickey pouted, internally consoling his losses. “And I'm not wearing Ian's shit, fuck you very much.” He batched up another two eggs, putting them into the pan to cook. Mandy was humming against the taste, and he had finally decided that everyone was pissing him off today.

 

Iggy lept up off the chair, patting his pockets for a lighter. “I'm sure I've seen Ian wear that a couple of times,  _ and  _ it fit him perfectly.” They were just teasing him now. He slapped Iggys head away as he lit his smoke from the toaster. Mandy was giggling from the table, and Mickey wanted to jump off a cliff because they were fuckers with morning egos.

 

“Shut up, If I'm cold I will wear anything.” He tried to push it off, but instead he found himself pushing Iggy off his cooked eggs. Iggy was too fast though, he plucked them from Mickey's sight and had already engrossed himself into the yolk. Mickey groaned in frustration, his hands gripping into the anger with morning anger. Those fuckers. Chucking the pan in the sink loudly, he grabbed two more beers from the fridge.

 

Mandy dipped her bread into the remains of Mickey's cooked food, “You will wear anything of  _ Ian's.”  _ he swiftly turned on his feet, glaring at them trying to show them that if they didn't stop taking the piss, and giggling he would turn them into fried eggs. 

 

Mickey had enough, he just wanted to drink his beer in peace. “Fuck you, little shit heads.” he flipped them off as he walked around the table, even catching Nika chuckle made him want to throw the beers at their heads.

 

Iggy caught him quickly with a shout, “Fucking hell, are they his sweats too?” He laughed immensely louder, Mandy following with her high pitched snort. Fucking hell, who was even living with. Even when he got into the bedroom, and slipped himself back into position he could hear them gossiping and laughing, probably on purpose.

 

He sat against the headboard, popping the cap off his beer so he could drink from it. As soon as his lips touched the brim Ian's hand snaked in and snatched the bottle out his hand. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” he was stressing the fuck out because he literally couldn't have one thing.

 

Ian smirked from where he was awkwardly lying before mumbling snarkily. “You wear my hoodie, I take your beer, its basics.”

 

 


	18. I'm sorry I was so blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18) Watch the stars together

“So...the baseball field?” Ian smirked, looking straight ahead at the familiar spot that they would attend to everytime they wanted to fuck. They hadn't been there much, the last time probably was when he bent Mickey over the fence. He didn't notice the way that Mickey snook quick looks just to catch the sight of him in the glimmering light of the nearby lampposts.

 

Mickey scoffed to himself, depositing his blunt cigarette. “We haven't been here for a while. Thought we could re-christen it.” They got to the field, the sprinklers not yet going off and Mickey could tell that they would as soon as they got close; he had luck like that, or Ian would make sure it did happen just to get his shirt off. Mickey, however, wanted to come there because he wanted to show Gallagher that he was always _there._ After finding out about him cheating he felt he needed to prove himself, that Ian needed to know that he cared so he didn't have to feel like fucking another guy. “What you say Gallagher?”

 

“You took me here so I could fuck you, _again?_ Jesus, you are a horndog tonight.” Ian pushed at the other mans shoulder, nudging it hard enough to knock him falling, nearly over his feet into the nearby sprinkler. Mickey winced as his foot fell to the side and quickly picked itself back up; that fucker was getting it, in sexual needs or not, he was going down. Before they had decided to have a walk, well Mickey did, Ian had pounded him into the mattress.

 

They stopped by the fence they had encountered not long ago, Mickey picked into his pocket rummaging around for the weed Iggy had happily sold him. “Not just that, I got some joints we gotta make use of.” He pulled out three joints, typical for him to have an odd number, they always ended up fighting over the last one. Ian always wondered if Mickey did it on purpose to provoke a play fight that would instantly turn into sex, because _yes_ he was defiantly was a hornbag. “You in?”

 

“Why you gotta bring an odd number all the time, you _so_ want us to fuck over the last joint.” Ian snatched a joint from Mickey's fingers, pulling out Mickey's lighter that had been stuffed in his back pocket. Lighting it up he inhaled quickly, taking Mickey by surprise he pulled him closer, blowing the smoke into his mouth. Luckily, Mickey had quick reflexes and didn't choke on the smoke, he fluttered his eyes open as they separated. “Another?” Ian asked, winking as he stepped closer towards the older man making him hit his back against the fence.

 

Mickey just nodded, accepting the fact that this was fucking hot. “Iggy can't fucking count, it's not my fault.” Ian pulled his hand up once more, connecting their lips this time. The smoke left the little gaps between their lips as he crushed them together; his insides suddenly turning as Mickey did what he always did. That fucker and his wonder kisses.

 

As they finally took a breather, Mickey turned and stared towards the field. Ian had burnt down the joint in his hand and inhaled a last couple of drags before squishing it under his foot. Mickey glanced towards him, that sentimental look in his eyes that Ian wasn't clearly used to. Mickey opened his palm, something he wouldn't usually do, “Come on.” he whispered, pulling Ian away from the fence and towards the field.

 

In the process Mickey nabbed one of the joints, lighting it up and smoking half before handing it to Ian. They reached the driest spot of the grass, feeling it before planting themselves along it. They both lay down against the damp surface, Ian was shocked when Mickey had put his coat down before they lay flat against it. The smoke was rising from the joint as they passed it back and forth, both of them grinning like idiots.

 

Ian laughed out loud, it echoing along the bleachers. “You remember the day you got out of Juvie, and we came here?” His voice was mellow, the soft tone so sweet to Mickey's ears. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not, Ian had some secret magic shit that would pull him into a trance that gave him googly eyes; not that he minded.

 

“Fuck yeh, It was hot as balls.” Mickey pulled at his shirt, trying to signal that even though they had the joints to warm them up he was freezing his ass off. Ian moved closer, his heat passing over to Mickey; he wasn't sure if it was Ian's body heat, or the fact that he always warmed up whenever he was close. “What about it?”

“You said something to me that night, you remember?” Ian turned his head to the side, watching as Mickey examined the stars as if they were detailed combinations of codes, he could see the scrunch of the face, the frown of the eyebrows. Mickey continued to stare forwards, not wanting to pursue his rise of affection just yet; it was still hard to show any of that shit, especially not in the privacy of a bedroom.

 

“I say a lot of shit Gallagher, you gotta be more specific.” He blew the smoke upwards, the air taking it away as soon as he exhaled it. He could feel Ian turning on his side, his green eyes digging into his body like they usually did; he still felt that warmth that he could never describe.

 

Ian had shifted, only to take back the rest of the joint Mickey had been occupying for the past five drags. “You asked if I wanted to spread a blanket and look for shooting stars.” Ian was beaming, his body getting slowly, closer to Mickey's without any notice. Mickey had forgotten what he ate almost an hour ago, nevermind trying to remember what he said back then.

 

“If I remember correctly, I was being fucking sarcastic.” Mickey pointed out, feeling the last smoke inbetween his fingers as Ian took the last drags from the previous one. They would be high as kites going home; not that he cared. Ian was still the grinning idiot, always the fucker who saw right through him.

 

Ian pulled him closer, trying to warm up the cold he felt from Mickey's thinly covered arms. “ _Really_ you wanted to do it more than me.” Ian joked, poking at his side but obviously looking up the stars and glaring at the random consolations. Mickey pushed against his chest, trying to free himself from finger drilling torture, but Ian had become stronger and managed to keep a firm hold.

 

“Oh, fuck off Gallagher.” Mickey folllowed Ian's dazed eyes and glanced up to the sky aswell. They both fell silent, they eyes glued to the lights that were surrounding the sky. Mickey trailed his hands over Ian's tendons in his hands, licking his lips as the cold began to chap them. “Are we seriously watching the fucking stars?”

 

Ian giggled, aimlessly kissing the top of the brunettes hair. “Hey, you were the one that suggested it.”

 

“Like three years ago asswipe.” Mickey panned back, his hand instinctively clutching to Ian's sleeve. Recently, Ian had been ill, Mickey had made sure to stay in bed with him until he felt the strength to finally get out; he had held on to anything he felt was in his reach.

 

Ian kissed his fingers, pulling them up one by one with a grin spread across his cheeks. “So you admit it.” He caught Mickey's eyes widen. “You wanted to look at the fucking stars with me”” He giggled more than usual, the rumble in his chest vibrating onto Mickey's.

 

“Fuck off Gallagher, who said I wanted to look at them with you?” He didn't feel , yet comfortable, to share his feelings. Maybe if they were in the middle of hot sex, or alone in Mickey's room. But somehow the outside world had entrapped him, and now he was breaking free for that; he just needed time.

 

“Well, you are whether you like it or not.” He brought up the last joint, his and Mickey's hands fighting for the first drags. “You- ay I'm having first take – are my star.” He understood how cheesy, and corny it sounded, but he didn't care. The weed was hitting his head and he felt that maybe, that shit just needed to get out.

 

“I swear to fuck, we ain't old yet. So we gonna watch the stars all night or you gonna get on me, because my ass is cold too.” Mickey pouted to create a more dramatic effect, not that Ian wouldn't be easily persuaded; Mickey knew his tricks, he knew how the redhead ticked, both on the surface and down undr.

 

Ian's smiled quirked up now, his eyes holding that glint. “If you ride me, I can watch the stars _and_ get on you. What you say, Mick?” what a fucker. A fucker with that heart filling smile and an ass filling cock.

 

“I say, hurry the fuck up then.” He jumped onto Ian, his legs straddling Ian's lap. Stars were good. Stars somehow made Gallagher horny. Horny Gallagher was a good Gallagher, even if his smile was annoyingly cute. Ian was mumbling against his skin, God knows what about. “Shut up Gallagher, and fucking kiss me.”

 

Ian chuckled, bringing their lips together with his giant hand wrapped around Mickey's neck. The smaller boy began to move his hips against Ian's, causing them both to yelp with drastic moans. As they breathed from an intense kiss, and their hot breaths hit against each others skin, Ian opened his mouth once more. “Can I show you the big and little dipper after – _uh –_ this?”

 

Mickey continued to roll his hips against Ian's, thumping his head down in frustration; Ian never knew when to shut up. “Jesus, Christ.” Before Ian could babble again, Mickey pulled his head up putting their lips together with ground force. Once he felt Ian fall into it, they were already rolling against the grass, hands everywhere; but when Mickey was laid on his back, grinning as Ian trailed rough kisses against his stomach, he saw the stars light up; he never really noticed them till now. As Much as Ian gives them credit, he'd prefer to see Ian doing _this_ everynight, even if the stars did have to be involved.


	19. You know I like it rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19) Sex in the dark

They were slightly drunk; Mickey had downed over ten shots of jack Daniels in the space of 30 seconds, and Ian's med's fucked up his drinking intake and turned him into a lightweight. They had stumbled all the way home, stopping at walls to rest their legs or the laugh about the way it was _way_ to hot at night. Ian shushed Mickey as he pulled the door open, still not forgetting that Svetlana had directly told them not to come barging in shouting or she would rip their balls off for waking the baby.

 

“Why the fuck are you shushing me, shush your fucking self.” Mickey moaned, his voice slurring louder than needed. Ian waved his hands in the air, trying to tell him to shut up without having to yell, he stumbled around Mickey to close the door slowly. Obviously, having a drink made you hear things louder than it actually was, closing the door made him wince under the sound.

 

Once Ian had turned, his coat flung to the floor, he caught Mickey's swaying glare from a couple of feet away. “Do you want our balls to be chucked into the fire?” Mickey just stared, his groan telling him that was a no. “Then get the fuck over here.” Ian pointed to his lips, his finger falling into a disordered place, all his senses had knocked him west.

 

Mickey hesitated, he always played this game, but he could see the seriousness in the redheads eyes; and seriously, he was too horny to even try messing with him. Before he knew it they were in deep with a make-out session. Ian dominantly pulled at Mickey's hair, sucking onto the sweet spot on his neck. Ian pulled Mickey's coat off, pushing him into the direction of the bedroom; If Svetlana even heard a peep out of them they would be the dogs dinner.

 

They roughly closed their mouths against each other, biting at each others lips as they clumsily made it to the bedroom. They had discarded each others clothing, both of them only wearing their boxers. Ian aggressively pushed open the door, hearing it clang against something that was lying on the floor. Their lips didn't fall apart as Ian felt for the light switch.

 

“Hurry the fuck up.” Mickey bit against Ian's jaw, his hand clasped tightly around Ian's biceps. He too, was considering feeling for the switch but Ian was a big boy, he could at least turn the goddamn light on. He felt all over Ian's body, craving it more now he couldn't see it; damn,how much he _needed_ to see it.

 

One hand on the back of Mickey's head, the other still climbing up the wall, he managed to close the door with his foot. They were in complete darkness and he would of never of guessed how hard it was to locate a fucking light switch. God must have been on his side because soon enough he felt the cold plastic of the light, he felt for the switch itself clicking it hoping for the room to light up. Instead, what they got was a mini ignited explosion from the light bulb; no fires or blast of walls, but they still jumped out of their skin.

 

“What the fuck!” Mickey yelped, tightening his grip around Ian obliviously. They bulb cracked and the glass fell onto a pile of clothing at the bottom of the bed. They were not expecting that. His hand was still pressed against the abs of his giggling boyfriend, his thumb absently trailing over the little bumps.

 

“Holy shit.” Ian laughed, Mickey could feel him throw his head back; he could feel him grinning like a five year old. “That light bulb went full die hard on us.” He was chuckling even more now, the sexiness of their kissing wearing off. Mickey huffed next to him, glancing around in the dark to find anything that he could smack Ian with to wear off his fucking giggles. Then he felt Ian loosen his grip around his waist. “I will go get a spare-

 

“Fuck that Gallagher. Just get on me, we ain't got all night.” Mickey didn't give a shit, he flung himself onto the bed, impressed at how easily he could do that in the dark. Suddenly he wished he hadn't shot out the lamppost right outside his window, maybe then he would have been able to see where his fucking boyfriend was. “You deaf or somethin', get over here D.I.Y SOS.”

 

He heard Ian huff a laugh from the end of the bed, he felt the heat moving closer. What he also felt was the crack of Ian's toe against the end of the bed; he had to have broken a bone. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he landed with a thud beside the bed, making Mickey peer over in the darkness; his eyes were slowly adjusting to the black figures in the room. Ian was slumped against the floor, cradling his foot; his cries louder than needed.

 

“Shut the fuck _Ian._ Do you want Svetlana to rip our balls off?” Mickey mocked Ian from earlier, his chest filling up with laughter as Ian continued to groan in pain. Despite the cringe-worthy moment of the crack, he couldn't help but bubble up at Ian squirming against the hard floor.

 

“Fuck you.” Ian raised his hand up his middle finger the only figure Mickey could work out. Then he watched as the black figure stumbled up, nearly toppling over as he pulled himself onto the bed. Mickey was still giggling to himself, faking a yawn as Ian hopelessly made his way over. “How about I rip your balls off?”

 

Mickey pushed at the taller man's chest, hovering his lips over Ian's. “How about you kiss them instead?” this time he took the opportunity of Ian's smiling lips, clasping his mouth around them and biting hard to make Ian unravel above him. His hand snaked around him, pushing his back forwards so their chests were together. “So you gonna get on me or what army?”

 

“I'm going to fuck you hard so turn the fuck over.” Ian demanded, the tone always making Mickey feel strange inside; his whole body squirming, buckling, up towards Ian's. He quickly compiled, gasping as Ian's chucked off his boxers in a rush. There was a couple of seconds interval as Ian reached over to grab a condom and some lube, but it was soon enough that he felt Ian's kisses trail down his spine. “You want me to fuck you, huh?.”

 

Mickey grabbed the pillow in front of his face, knowing that soon he would be giving that some good use. “Yeh, now get the fuck on with it.” He felt Ian come closer, struggling to even find the hole to put his fingers in,he clumsily felt around before hitting jackpot. “You struggling there, Gallagher?” Mickey laughing onto his arm, looking back expecting to see a lightened up Gallagher, but being in the dark was shit sometimes.

 

“Like its fucking easy with the light being off, you try finding it when its like your eyes are glued together” Ian didn't feel like Mickey should have been prepared, with his snarky attitude maybe he just wanted to get on with it, pound him into the mattress just like he was asking him to. “I swear to God we gotta be quiet doing this.”

 

“Keep your balls on.” Mickey snapped back, a chuckle eloping the end of the sentence.

 

They were at first, Ian was hammering into him muffling his sounds against his arm. Mickey was groaning into the pillow, biting the fabric as Ian intensely hit the spot harder. Suddenly the taller boy changed his angle, the whole tables turning as he hit the spot every fucking time. Mickey felt his face defaulting against the pressure, the way his whole body flushed with pleasure, he could hardly control his own senses at this point. Ian's chest plastered against his back, his hips rotating in the way which it made Mickey hiss against the pillow.

 

“Jesus, fucking Christ Mick.” Ian tried to whisper, cutting himself off as he captured the skin of Mickey's shoulder to shut himself up. Mickey lifted his head up, not caring if his groan was too loud; his whole body was out of control and Ian was doing that thing with his hips, the thing that made Mickey feel like he needed it all the time.

 

Their moans were growing louder, too loud to be infact, but every time they tried to calm themselves down Ian would hit that spot again. “Fucking hell, _IAN.”_ Mickey nearly shouted, his hand grabbing backwards to push Ian even further in. Ian pulled his hand around trying to find Mickey's mouth to put it around,. However, the disadvantages of having no light prevented this, instead mickey licked out his tongue and swiped his mouth around Ian's index finger.

 

They both cursed around, hands clutching each other to make the pressure harder. Ian was coming close bringing Mickey with him, this time neither of them even cared to try holding back. The bed was even making its contribution, the headboard hitting against the hard plaster. They made enough noise for a twenty man based orgy, but Ian did always know how the fuck a guy till his eyes watered.

 

As they both poured out into pure bliss, their cum spreading over each other, they took that silent breather before Ian pulled out. Mickey cried at the sheer emptiness that followed, falling face first onto the crumpled pillow. Ian reached his hand over him, grabbing the nearest packet of cigarettes obviously after taking a while to actually find them. “Shit, that was intense.” Ian mumbled out, the click of the lighter waking Mickey up a little bit.

 

“Its always fucking intense, man, I'mma be sore tomorrow.” Mickey moaned, pushing himself backwards so he could at least feel abit of Ian's skin. Ian already cut him to the chase, his freehand playing fingertips along his shoulders. It was all so smooth and nearing him to sleep, well, that was until a massive Bang hit against the wall.

 

They both stopped breathing for a second, wondering if it was Kenyatta kicking off again, or if some-how Terry had moved back into their lives. But, it was followed by loud Russian shouting and a cry of a baby; shit, they had done it now, they had woke the fucking baby. Bye Bye balls.

 

“Looks like this was our last fuck.” Mickey sighed against the pillow, full well knowing Lana wouldn't rip their balls off, but he wasn't one hundred percent she could be bluffing. Ian put out the fag, snooping down to Mickey's side, it was too hot for a cover so he wrapped his arm around him instead.

 

“I'm totally looking forward to having no balls, you think she would do it?” Ian asked, his lips brushing against Mickey's ear.

 

Mickey felt he could do this, it was dark after all. He intertwined his fingers into Ian's, trying to not feel the grin that was pressed against his skin. “She's Russian, she can do fucking anything.”


	20. The hands of God, Apparently.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20) Kiss at every chance you get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey keeps noticing Ian's kisses to his cheek

Mickey hadn't noticed it that much; Ian was always the over- romanising type, he would always plant cheesy ass shit all over the place. Sometimes Mickey would just take it, he liked it somewhere in his heart; but now it was starting to get over the top.

 

_Every single day,_ Ian would randomly plant a kiss on Mickey's cheek, head even fucking hands. Ian had even planted a kiss on him after they made one of his gay mates suck off the pastor, out of all times he had to plant that kiss just after he tweeted the picture of the church boy getting a blow job. 

 

It wasn't that he didn't  _like_ it, its just very annoying. Mickey would be picking up a gun and Ian would sneakily kiss his cheek, he could be eating his way through a stack of greasy pancakes and Ian would still think he was adorable and catch his head with his lips. Mickey didn't understand it; he didn't understand how Ian could be so open all the fucking time, but he guessed he knew what he was getting into; and he didn't fucking mind it, not at all. 

 

After Ian's freak out the day before, which ultimately scared him shitless because Ian was  _even_ asking for grenades, just because some church fucks chucked some insults at veterans. Yes, Mickey understood that Ian was proud to have served his country, even if it was for a short time, and yes, he knew that the fuckers should be shot; but they had to be reasonable, he had to help keep Ian sane because fuck calling Fiona to send him to some fucking skrink. However, yet again Ian was up on his feet, smiling like he was dosed up on acid, cleaning up for God know's what and laughing like a maniac around the house. 

 

Mickey loved this side of Ian, even if he did feel like something more was going on. He was sat around the kitchen table, bacon and eggs that Mandy had managed to grab from some guy at the church, his eyes followed the redhead as he rummaged around the living space; Mickey was only hoping that there was not another homophobic anti-veteran church group wondering the streets, waiting to be shot. 

 

To his victory Ian was just looking for his phone, he grinned wildly as he retrieved it from the side of the couch. Mickey watched as Ian scrolled through his phone, noticing the way that Ian's brow scrunched and then contracted back to its original position. He felt like a twat for staring at him, but if he could kiss him all the fucking time then he could stare at him. 

 

Ian huffed from where he was stood, chucking the phone up in the air and catching it. “We should of shot that fucker, you know.” Mickey instantly new that he was talking about that pastor,  _yet again._ All night he had been talking about how their plan could of escalated, how they could have made that pastor pay for it more than he did, yet again Mickey had to calm him down; and it looks like he had to do it now. 

 

“And then what, wise guy? You want to be sent down for killing a homophobic prick?” Mickey shook his head, Ian had some crazy idea's sometimes. Some were good some were beyond fucking bad. Ian turned to him, lips pursed. Mickey took that as a no, because he knew how much Ian was willing to contribute to everyone’s lives. “Thought so. So shut the fuck up and eat somethin', this bacon is from the hands of God apparently.” 

 

Ian scoffed and hesitated to put down his phone, but when Mickey waved a piece of bacon in the air he followed. However, before he put his ass down he placed a kiss to Mickey's cheek. “If God smells of shit and goes oink and maybe, yeh.” He nadded some of Mickey's food, grinning as he full blown pushed it into his mouth. Mickey however was still thinking about the yet again, kiss on the cheek. 

 

“Why you always gotta do that?” He blurted out, scowling towards the smug fucker next to him, who was in the middle of consuming a load of bacon. His fucking bacon. 

 

Ian looked up, bacon fat dangling from his lips, for some reason Mickey felt that tingle in his chest that told him Ian was fucking adorable. “You told me to eat. I can't be bothered cooking some stuff up so might as well steal yours.” He licked his fingers from the grease of the bacon, purposely looking at Mickey, because fuck, he did know how to flip his stomach sometimes. 

 

“No, you fucking idiot. The-” Mickey used his freehand to jab his own cheek, staring a confused Gallagher right into the face. “You know-” He picked his knife up again, not yet cutting into his egg until Ian reacted in some sort of way. Then all he heard was a snort from his side, that fucker was laughing at him. 

 

Ian wiped his hands against his shirt, “What, kissing you on the cheek? Come the fuck on Mickey I do it because you  _love_ it.” he leant back on his chair, his mouth curling up at the grumpy ass fucker across the table. Ian would always tease him for that shit, if Mickey could call him “army” or “saving private Ryan” he could take the piss out of Mickey for his elderly personality. 

 

“Who said I fucking love it? I don't love it.” Mickey snapped, it coming out softer than usual. He had found himself doing that recently; he was surprised by it. When Ian went full mental at the funeral he had even stopped himself from kicking off, someone Mickey Milkovich is not seen doing, he even made a none-killing plan to get the fuckers back. Ian's kindness was brushing off on him,and at some points it seemed Mickey's violent side was brushing off on Ian. 

 

“Lies, Lies, Lies.” Ian tutted, swaying his finger like some pre-school teacher. Mickey swatted his finger away, stabbing into the yolk of his egg on purpose. “Why don't we have any grenades anyway, I want to blow some shit up.”

 

Mickey darted his eyes up from his food, catching Ian scrape his chair off the floor to follow his mission of rooting through the house. “Calm the fuck down Terminator.” Fucking hell,  _did he ever just rest for like one second._ That fucker was too upbeat, for any time of the day; but that was just Mickey. “Since when did you fucking become Carl, we ain't getting grenades, a'right?” he was getting irritated on Ian's plead to get explosive weapons, seriously one of these days he is going to blow up the fucking house; maybe that new construction, because maybe Frank's theory was right about the whole starbucks thing. 

 

Ian pouted from where he was stood, watching as Mickey shook his head again. “Fine. But if that pastor  _still_ carries on, we can shoot him down, yes?” Again with the reckless fucking idea's. 

 

“I will beat the shit outta him, that good enough for ya?” Mickey suggested, knowing that if he said Ian could join in the fucker would probably get killed by him. Ian thought about it for a moment, before smiling like the idiot he was, Mickey rolled his eyes getting back to his food that was probably cold by now. Ian swooped in, planting another kiss to Mickey's cheek. 

 

“Thanks Mick.” He smiled against his cheek, his arms pulled him around the shoulders. After the little embrace, Mickey did smile to himself but bacon was good for hiding that, Ian kissed him yet again, but this time it didn't really matter. He walked away, stalking to the bedroom to do God knows what. 

 

“I'mma kick your ass if you do that again.” Mickey yelled jokingly, he didn't really want Ian to stop; because even if it was annoying he would miss it like a fucking bitch. He heard the giggle echo from the bedroom, something that was instantly Ian Gallagher. 

 

“Bring it on old man!” Ian yelled, jumping onto the bed knowing that Mickey would be there in a second. Just like his thinking, Mickey quickly ran into the room pinning Ian down to the bed until they ended up in a wrestle. 

 

Mickey dipped in with a violent kiss, giving him back some of his own medicine. “You got it,  _officer.”_

 

 

 

 


	21. It won't wipe off your face, no matter how hard you try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21) Wearing no underwear and let them find out about it

The fairytale stunk like sweat and mixed cocktails as usual, and Mickey didn't like it. Going there was for Ian's sake, he had been begging all week for them to go have a drink there. Something to do with getting out more and actually being _social._  Mickey had groaned and bundled himself under the covers until he felt the world moving on without him, but obviously Ian Gallagher was having none of that. The fucker had pulled him from his warmth, sitting on his chest until he tapped out and agreed to go. Normally he would dream for Ian to sit on his chest, or sit on something else.. but that's not the point. The point was, he had eaten so much junk his belly felt like it was going to explode and Ian sitting his heavy-ass on it made him want to vomit literally _everywhere._

 

So that is how he ended up at the bar he recognised so much from watching Ian dance, more like protecting his ass from creepy fucks. Lucky for him Ian had moved to bartending on weekdays, and today was Saturday. And fuck, it felt good that he didn't have to watch Ian flash himself off like some bone for the dogs to catch. It was all going fine and dandy, they were laughing, joking, fucking play fighting on the stools beside the bar, until Mr rich-handsome motherfucker stepped into the picture.

 

Ian had been telling him about some shit Carl was doing at school and then he noticed a hand snake around the Redhead's back. Obviously Ian hadn't noticed because when he talks everything else goes numb from the speed his words come out. Mickey gritted his teeth and was ready to pounce on the fucker.

 

“Hey Curtis, you want a drink? Same as last time.” The fucker was talking to Ian like they were _together_ , just pushing Mickey aside like he wasn't there in the first place. He could tell Ian was obviously not liking it, so he chucked back his drink and clenched his fists.

 

Ian still hadn't answered the fuck and Mickey was glad of it. “Hey man, I gotta say you gotta nice set of teeth.” Mickey had put on his good-boy smile and wavered it around like a hooker in the Rub n' Tug, Ian was watching him like a hawk and Mickey could tell he couldn't stop his lips from tugging up.

 

The rich fuck turned on his heel, only just noticing Mickey, his eyes widened. “Thanks, but it ain't something you could afford.” He laughed into the brim of his glass, his hand resting around Ian's waist. Ian flinched at the touch and gave Mickey the look of -help-me-now. That was the ultimate signal to beat the shit out of the guy, because who the hell wouldn't, the guy was dressed in a tailored suit to a strip joint for fucks sakes.

 

Mickey placed his hand on the redhead's knee, reassuring him that this shit ended now. “I might not be able to afford em', but I can assure you I can fucking smash them.” The guy couldn't even rely on his reflexes because Mickey was already smashing his head against the surface of the bar. The bartender shook his head, because he must have seen Mickey beat up tons of guys for looking at Ian, it wasn't the first and it certainly wasn't the last.

 

Ian had quickly removed from his stool, his face hardening as he stood behind Mickey. Mickey leant into the guys face, his lips at his ear. “I may not beable to afford your fucking pegs, but you can't afford _him._ So next time you see _Curtis_ you think of me. Because you look at him again it ain't just gonna be your teeth getting smashed. You hear me?”

 

The guy nodded against the bloody surface, pulling himself out of the grip and running to the nearest toilets. Ian laughed at the mangled tooth left on the bar, flicking it into Mickey's direction. “You can have this tooth Mick, fresh from the bone.”

 

Mickey pushed his shoulder towards the exit, this was way to fucking hot to be by a bar. “Fucking move Gallagher, we ain't on a tourist tour.” They got outside and he immediately pushed the taller boy into the alley wall, his lips latched onto his neck sucking in that spot he always did. Something about protecting his ass made him horny, he wasn't sure about the causes yet but he was sure as fuck he would go ahead with the treatment.

 

Ian moaned under the touch, his hands barely holding onto the slabs of the wall any longer. “Fuck, You are hot when you are angry. But when you're Jealous, damn that makes me hard.” His voice was hot against Mickey's ear, his chest gasping with the pressure of his cock against his pants.

 

Mickey reached down and palmed the bulge. “You like that, huh?” He quickly unzipped the pants, relishing the feeling of Ian crumbling underneath him from such little touches. Ian could sure make him do things, but watching him unravel, become limp of pleasure just at his fingertips could make him blow in seconds. When he reached into his jeans, he noticed something. “Gallagher going commando? You planning this or something?”

 

Ian giggled against his skin, his hands travelling down to grip at Mickey's ass. “I just wanted to make it easier for you.” he whispered darkly, his tone more than enough to make Mickey jizz his pants right there, right then.

 

“Easier for me to blow my load or easier for me to suck your dick?” He hand was working away, his wrist flicking each couple of seconds just to make the taller boy squirm. His brushed his lips against Ian's, their breaths balancing against each other as their eyes remained in contact. “Fuck, we ain't gonna make it home.”

 

Ian laughed in his ear, swapping their positions so Mickey was against the wall. He bit his lip as Mickey's hand continued to tug against his cock, his braced himself with a hand above Mickey's head. “Fine, we will do this here then.” With that, he slid his freehand from Mickey's ass and onto his zipper.

 

“Anyone would think you were planning this too Mick. Look who else forgot the use of boxers?” Ian teased, his own hand palming Mickey's cock and running his hands over his shaft. The brunette relaxed against the wall, his moan echoing through the alley. _Fuck, Ian could work his wrist._ Their faces were close again, noses touching as they breathed in each others air, and fuck it was hot.

 

“Fuck off Gallagher, get on me before the night is old. My balls are gonna freeze off if you don't get on with it.” Mickey smirked his lip quivering from sensation, his teeth caught it, he bit down as the tension began to build. Ian pushed his pants down, they were going to do this face to face because fuck, Mickey looked hot like this.

 

Mickey gasped deeply, his hand gripping tightly to the collar of Ian's coat as he slowly slid in with no preparation at all. Ian adjusted himself closer, his lips touching the tip of the smaller boys ear. “You can call me _commando_ officer.”

 

That was it Mickey was laughing into his mouth, pulling him closer so he was deeper inside of him.

 

_That fucking dork._


	22. We'll put on the day and we'll wear it till the night comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22) Kinky is bad...Blindfolds are good

“Hey Mick, can we try something?” Ian was kissing down his stomach, the brunettes hands were deep in his hair and they were in the middle of an intense make-out session. All week they had been interrupted over and over again. First it was Iggy, _Shit, is that how it works._ Then It was Mandy and Fiona, _I told you Mickey was the bottom, twenty bucks._ And fuck he was still pissed that they had betted on their asses and the fact that Mandy knew him _too_ well.

 

Today was one of those rare, magical, fucking unpredictable days where everyone had gone out to do something, besides Ian and Mickey. Svetlana and Nika had left with Yevgeny to go to some park, Iggy had some drug run he couldn't refuse; _Drugs is drugs, we all need our fix._ Mickey always told him he should get that on a t-shirt. Mandy was probably fucking Lip, somehow they become a fling again, he wasn't sure how to take that. Or how Kenyatta was going to take that.

 

Finally, they could fuck all they wanted and didn't have to be scared about the existence of their balls. They could bang the headboard as hard as they wanted, but making sure they didn't put a hole through the wall because _fuck having peeping Tom's about._ But, yet again, they couldn't just fuck, could they. Ian had to bring one of his bright idea's in, give something new to the table.

 

“What is it this time?” Mickey moaned, he didn't want to move; he just wanted Ian to take him there. That was all.

 

Ian tickled his skin as he huffed out a laugh against him. “Don't sound _too enthusiastic_ , God Mickey.” He trailed his fingers over the smaller boys ribs, knowing that was one of his sensitive spots. Mickey could literally here the ticking in the redhead's brain. “Just let me try something, just once. _Please.”_ Now, he was fucked. 

 

Who could say no to Ian Gallagher, especially when he gave the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lip. Fuck he was so deep in all this. “Fucking go on then, but do I have to move?” The heat was like a scorching desert, the bed was a sticking fortress that his skin was melting too, and Ian fucking Gallagher was messing about, fussing, when he could be balls deep in him making him feel  _ much  _ better. 

 

Ian rolled off the smaller boy, kicking away the sheets that had been lingering at his feet. Mickey listened out for his movements, he walked out of the bedroom and Mickey could trace his footsteps to the kitchen. “God forbid if Mickey Milkovich has to move!” he was interrupted by loud, boom of Ian's voice. Shit he hated the way voices travelled when there was no Russian to mumble through it. 

 

Still, he followed Ian with his ears. Kitchen, he opened the fridge.  _ Is he fucking eating when they should be fucking.  _ The door of the fridge closed, knowing Ian he was probably eating to boost his over-the top energy. Then he heard the footsteps paddle back into the room, he glanced up and his eyes caught Ian's. Then they fell towards his hands which were covered in water, all enclosed in a tight fist. 

 

“Did you seriously get some fucking food?” Shit, he was hungry now. Ian was looking rather shifty, his eyes wandering all over Mickey which just made him squirm like a fucking school girl. Ian held his fist behind his back, shaking his head as he leant over the bed. At first Mickey was expecting a kiss, but Ian was a fucking game player and brushed his lips before reaching under the bed. 

 

_ Seriously, what the fuck was he doing now.  _ “Are you stalling Gallagher, can't get it up or somethin'?” sticking his tongue in his mouth he tugged at the ginger strands to pull him back up, but there was obviously something more interesting under the bed than ontop of it. 

 

Suddenly Ian emerged from under the bed, a strange looking blindfold in his hand. Mickey frowned at it,  _ what the fuck.  _ The redhead still hadn't spoken a word, or taken his hand from behind his back; it was all making Mickey unsure of what was actually going on in his boyfriend's mind. 

 

“I ain't wearing that fucking thing.” Mickey snapped, trying to take it from his hands but the taller boy was way too fast, he used his height as an advantage to lift it away from his grasp. He jumped up from the pillows, the ones he had comfortably made a home in, straddling Ian's sitting position he still couldn't reach the damn thing. “Gallagher, give me the fucking-”

 

“Come on Mick. It will be fun, I have an idea.” Ian still had his hand behind his back, one clutching to the blindfold that he was dangling out of Mickey's reach. Mickey rubbed at his eyes, too tired to even say his own name, nevermind wear a blindfold which would put him to sleep in seconds. 

 

Attempting again he reached up, his hand pushing onto Ian's chest. “I thought this was your idea. Its pretty shitty aswell.” All the fifty shades shit was getting out of hand, Ian had read all the books in the space of five days, he didn't sleep not much anyway. It looked like he had been granting himself tips, taking information and learning from it, and  _ this  _ was the start of it. 

 

“There's a surprise, just let me do this. If its so shit you can fall asleep, alright?” Ian bargained, 

knowing through his googly eyes and pouty lip he could make Mickey fall for it in second. The boy ontop of him relaxed against him, falling down in defeat. With one last plead of “Come on _Mick”_ Ian was basically singing his name with pleads and to be honest, Mickey wasn't in the mood to hear it any longer.

 

The smaller boy snatched the blindfold from Ian's grasp, pinching his nose to reflect his frustration with the whole matter. The things he does for Gallagher, is _unbelieveable._ “Fuckin' fine, you better make this good.” He fell back against the cushions, awaiting the torture to begin. Ian nodded for him to but the blindfold on, already removing his own clothes. Mickey could play this game, he rested the blindfold half way down, smirking as Ian was now feeling the frustration.

 

The darkness took over him, his eyes blinded by the thick layer of fabric. He could hear Ian moving around; the clang of his pants against the floor, the shuffle of his feet as he moved his way around the room. Then he felt his,unusually, cold hand fall onto his body. He shifted up with a yelp, feeling betrayal from the stupid sense of security this blindfold had pretended to be. Ian took his boxers off, his whole body exposed and suddenly cold because Ian's hands were basically snow balls. The bed dipped at his feet, Ian's weight feeling warm like it always did because he's a fucking heater with idiot cold hands. Even with the blindfold on he could sense, feel, Ian's smirk above him. If he could see he could smack that smile off his face, because somehow-it made him grin like a idiot and that was way too consuming. Too consuming for a moment of heated sex. Then he felt the cold hands, _again._

 

“Cut it out with the cold hands, Jesus.” He muttered, feeling Ian hover over his body. There was a little chuckle from above him, then next minute his protests were cut off when he felt something extremely fucking cold roll down over his abs. “ _Fuck.”_ As soon as he felt it, he knew what it was. That fucker was putting ice on him, fucking _ice._ Strangely he liked it, he liked the way Ian was using his tongue to stripe the ice up and down, over the bumps of his abs. And fuck, when he reached his nipples he couldn't help but buckle his hips. 

 

“You like that Mick?” Ian hummed against his skin, the ice slowly trailing over his pecks and towards his lower abdomen, he shivered in pleasure, moaning out for more. Ian tugged at his hair, his other hand falling lower towards his cock, and fuck it was a perfect picture. He may have underestimated the special idea, because he couldn't control his hips from grounding against Ian's. “Told you it was a good idea, you should listen to me.” 

Mickey hummed in response, his hands finding Ian's hair and running through it, the soft strands tickled his stomach and he gasped each time Ian managed to hit  _ that  _ spot. The blindfold was turning him on more but shit he wished he could see Ian right now. Then he felt the sudden rush, the sudden sensation that hit his whole body. Ian had slipped one finger in, his cold lips trailing through the water that was spread against his stomach, then he slipped the second it. At first he started slow just wanting to hear Mickey whimper under him, but fuck it, Mickey wanted it so Mickey could have it. 

 

Abruptly he pushed himself up, loving the look of Mickey all vulnerable, biting at his arm to hold back his moans. Ian swatted it away, gripping underneath the smaller boys perfect ass he dragged the body towards him, hitching himself up in line with Mickey. Softly he left kisses onto Mickey's calf, biting at the skin the moans making him grin. Mickey was quieter than usual and he blamed that on the pool forming on his chest, so to make him loud he slid the condom on and pushed himself through. 

 

Mickey hitched off the bed, his hips rolling onto Ian who was fully in deep. The hair on his face was stuck with sweat as his head swept from side to side, his teeth sinking into his lips. His eyes were still covered but he wasn't blinded to how good Ian could fuck him.“Fuck, this is the best idea you've ever had.” The headboard was on full speed, hitting against the already cracked wall. The things that wall has seen, heck, the things the bed has fucking seen. 

 

 

The taller boy giggled, making the sensation tingle inside of them, he leant down and captured Mickey's lips, his smile getting wider as the brunettes hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. As they broke apart, Ian was still moving, their hips still rolling. “I told you, you should listen to me more often.”

 

“Yeh, yeh. Don't get all cocky now.”


	23. A man must break his back to earn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23) Bubble baths

Ian's eyes snapped up at the loud bang of the front door, it wasn't unusual but the wince after it didn't sound particularly good. Chucking the book he had been immensely engrossed in, his stare latched onto Mickey who was barely standing up against the wall opposite the couch. “What the fuck happened to you?”

 

Mickey spat out a bit of blood, literally not giving a shit that it dribbled against his chin, his feet were aching and his eyes were hardly prying open. “Some fucker forgot to pay, hit one of the girls so I had to sort him out.” he passed Ian, who was typically over concerned, as if Mickey had never been beaten in his life.

 

The redhead followed him like a hawk into the bedroom, “Please tell me that this fucker looks worse than you do.” Concerned, he moved forward and tried to touch the gash that was opened on the arch of Mickey's nose. The brunette pulled away, hurt and obviously tired as shit. “Jesus Mickey, your nose is practically a blood bath.”

 

Mickey frowned, trying not to show any sign that his head was fucking pounding. “Fuck off, obviously I threw in hits. I didn't kill the guy, still need my costumers.” The smaller boy stripped from his clothes and persisted to climb into bed, until his fuckwit of a boyfriend stopped him in his tracks and pulled him back.

 

"What a noble citizen." Ian joked, receiving a glare from the other boy. “Seriously? You can't go to bed looking like that.” Ian raised a eyebrow, matching his question. Without thought towards Mickey's grunt in protest he dragged him towards the bathroom.

 

“You scared the sheets are gonna go red or somethin'? Fuckin' hell I think there's worse on there, man.” Mickey subsided, watching as Ian trolled around the bathroom for some bubblebath, _Wait? Bubble bath._ “I swear to fuck, I ain't having a bath with frikkin bubbles.”

 

Ian turned to the five year old masking over his boyfriend, chuckling at the sight of Mickey pouting with a bust lip. “Who said that you're going in there alone?” He winked as the bath began to run, the bubbles already forming making Mickey feel a little queasy. Ian stripped himself down before closing the door.

 

Mickey stood still, preparing to protest against a stupid bubble bath. “Are we going to fuck, I mean the baths pretty small.” He concluded in stalling the situation, what happened to just having a fucking shower; and he _knew_ Ian was just using this to shower him with romantic bullshit.

 

“No we are not going to fuck, can you even move? Jesus, I'm going to help you clean that shit off your face.” Ian pushed him towards the edge of the tub, gesturing to him to take his boxers off. Ian stepped in the bath, sitting at the back end looking for some soap. Mickey stood, hesitant to move, was he seriously going to have a cheesy-ass bubble bath with Ian. “Are you going to dawdle there or you getting in?”

 

Mickey furrowed his brows, stepping in carefully. The water was humid, something he actually liked and fuck, Ian for knowing that too. Sitting in between the lanky legs, he let Ian pull him back onto his chest. “This is some cheesy ass bullshit Gallagher. What happened to having a normal shower?”

 

Ian scoffed from behind him, already rubbing the soap against the smaller boys chest. “We always have a shower, can we not spice shit up abit? Plus, you never get all the blood off under that shit thing.” he pointed up to the lopsided shower head, his hand running over Mickey's abs and then back over his pecks.

 

Mickey tried to forget the tinge of his dick, _Ian and his fucking magic hands._ In defence he ran his own finger along Ian's thigh going higher and higher. “Ay, we've had that for fucking ages; Its part of the family.”

 

Ian's laugh echoed in the small walls of the bathroom, his hand smacking against Mickey's sore cheek. “If you say _so._ Pass me the flannel.” his hand was held out just ontop of Mickey's chest, acting as if he was a lord ship. 

 

“I'm the one soaked in blood and I  _ still  _ have to follow your orders. I'm not tipping you for your shitty service.” He chucked back the flannel, knowing it hit Ian's face and grinning in the essence of his pure greatness.

 

“Is that all I am, a servant?” Ian grinned against Mickey's hand, rubbing the soap onto the flannel after dropping it a couple of times. Mickey nodded his head, his hands still running up and down Ian's pale legs. 

 

Mickey then pinched at the skin, the water slightly going over the edge as Ian yelped up in surprise. “Nah, you are pretty good at sucking dick too. I might even tip you for that if your lucky.” Next minute he knew the flannel went straight into his face, the wet slap more than enough to make him yell out in pain. 

 

Ian was laughing like a high elephant, one of his hands on his own chest and the other holding Mickey's arm to keep up. Mickey turned in disgust, his hair all over the place and a grumpy expression smacked onto his face. 

 

That was it, the redhead was laughing even more. There was nothing more amusing than a grumpy Mickey who's hair is in its world of its own. “You are such an idiot, fucking hell.” 

 

 

Mickey's lip turned up at the sides. “I hate you.” He pouted his lip, resting back into his spot as if he was in a mood with the taller boy. Ian hummed against his cheek, a hand slowly making its way to Mickey's now, throbbing dick. Fuck, he couldn't just keep it together for one minute. 

 

As soon as Ian's hand grabbed it, pumping it slowly, Mickey couldn't keep back the moans in the back of his throat. Ian used his other hand to wash off the blood still lingering on Mickey's neck. “You sure about that?” 


	24. You Say Sorry Like An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24) Making love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will understand this one better when I upload the next one:)

Mickey awoke to a loud clattering noise coming from the bathroom; it sounded like rats, he would of guessed it was if Ian hadn't gone spring cleaning all over the house to make sure no rodents would come five yards from it. This time he tried to close his eyes, he was probably dreaming. Then it happened again, it sounded as if a hundred bottles were being chucked onto the floor, on _purpose._ The ex-con swung his arm to the other side of the bed, only to feel that no one was there to send and sort it out. The sheets were empty and now he was awake. 

 

_Suicidal tendencies,self harming. Lack of Sleep._ All the shit Mandy had read to him about the disorder was coming back to him. It scared him how much the symptoms looked so alike to Ian, in some parts of his mind he didn't want to register them, just telling himself that Ian was fine, Ian was okay. It was clear as day he wasn't, the mood swings are terribly scary. Just as he was about to catch his fate in the sight of the bathroom, Ian stepped out with a unsure look plastered over his face. 

 

“What you doing, Tomb Raider?” Mickey asked cautiously, he eyed the other boy checking to see if any blood spots were at ease; but nothing. It didn't look as if Ian had hurt himself but he was sure by shaking. _Anger? Sadness?_ The mood swings were hard to cope with but he was getting the hand of them now, he knew when they would be ready to burst out and he knew what type; this time, he wasn't that sure. Ian didn't look remotely like Ian until he stepped out of the light.

 

Ian ignored the question for a couple of seconds, his eyes running up and down Mickey's body as if he was pinning it to his memory. “Tomb Raider,  _seriously?”_ His voice didn't cut right, it sounded shaky and unknown. As if Ian had just made it up, but Mickey shook it off it was probably his mind again. 

 

Mickey shivered as Ian crawled over his body, just hovering his face above Mickey's. “Ay, I may like dick but Angelina Jolie is fucking hot.” He raised his eyebrow, questioning Gallagher on his last accusations. All he got back was a weak nod and a gentle kiss. 

 

The redhead hummed as he trailed the kisses all over Mickey's face, his body shifting Mickey's so he was directly under him. Ian worked slow, his mouth all over the brunette in a sensitive way they had never done before. Mickey wasn't sure whether he liked it, it was going rather slow, but the kisses were still causing his hips to bucker up. Ian then lifted Mickey's naked body, pulling him towards him with his hands gripped at his thighs. With a grunt he lightly lifted Mickey's legs to be wrap around him. 

 

The silence was like a slice through the heart, Mickey watched concernedly as Ian proceeded without one word of exchange. It was all about the domineering effect whenever they had sex, Ian was always in control; biting, gripping, even fucking  _laughing._ This new bullshit had come unexpectedly and he wondered what the hell brought it on. Ian reached over to the side table, his eyes not yet meeting Mickey's. 

 

Mickey waited for Ian to pull the condom on, his brows still furrowed at the silent behaviour. “You not gonna tell me to turn the fuck around? You lost your tongue or somethin'.” He waited for a snort, but nothing. Ian's lip quirked up with a innocent smile before it dropped as he pushed into him. Mickey's body arched off the bed, one hand gripping onto Ian's shoulder. The other ran through the redhead's hair, trying to make him talk  _atleast._ Silence sex might get fucking awkward. 

 

“I'm sorry.” Ian began to whisper as he slowly fucked Mickey, his lips barely inches away from the smaller boys. Finally, he regained the eye contact Mickey had be yearning for and nothing scared him more than the fear striking in Ian's eyes. 

 

“Why the fuck- _ah –_ you saying sorry for?” Mickey gasped out, barely holding on because moving slower was causing him an incredible build up. He couldn't help but pin his ankle into Ian's back, feeling the taller boy pulling him closer and deeper, his own groans matching Mickey's. Ian still hadn't replied yet and it was grating on Mickey. “Gallagher?” he rasped out. 

 

“It's nothing Mick, I thought- I thought.” Ian bit his lip in both frustration and pleasure, he couldn't get his words out when Mickey was moaning as he was. Fuck, he never looked more beautiful. The scruffy boy that had barged into the shop those years ago was rebuilt into a stronger, much better man and Ian could cry because of that. “I just really, really _like_ you.” _Shit, why didn't he say love, he heard Mickey say it the night before, why the fuck didn't he just say it._

 

Mickey chuckled from his spot, hands nailing into the pale skin above him as the pit of his stomach began to build up that sensation. Ian hit that spot again, and a-fucking-gain, the slow rhythm making him tense under each touch. “Fucking good, because it would be awkward if this was a one-sided relationship.”

 

Ian lunged in with a kiss, his mouth latching to Mickey's as it always did. It was sloppy and it was rougher than the sex, but they needed it. Oh boy, did they fucking need It. Ian pushed himself deeper, coming was just around the corner now and he could feel it nearly there. Mickey was incredibly close, his ass clenching around Ian's cock like it had never been fucked before. Fuck, Ian could blow in any minute- but he wanted this to be together, just once.

 

Once they both were left panting after the longest, but most intense, sex they had ever had, Mickey pretended not to hug Ian but his arms were tightly clasped around his shoulders. Ian slid out, hearing Mickey wince at the loss of touch, he planted himself close to Mickey's side. Mickey's breathing became slower once more, his eyes drooping but continuously trying to stay open to look at Ian.

 

“Sleep, Mick I'll be fine.” Ian reassured him, receiving a middle finger back but he smiled as Mickey turned in his warmth, allowing him to wrap his arm around him while they laid against the one pillow.


	25. There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25) At the beach at Midnight

Frank was yet again mumbling to shit at the Alibi. Mickey had even glanced over because he swore he saw the drunk crying, fucking _crying._ “Ay, Frank. You got any of that strong shit you brought in here the other day?” Mickey actually, kinda, liked that shit Frank had batched up, even if he knew there was probably a dead mouse in there or something. “What the fuck did you call it, Milk of the Sod's?”

 

Frank piped up, moving his stool closer to Mickey as if it was a secret now. “Milk of the _God's.”_ He corrected him with a blatant finger, downing the rest of the shot Veronica had poured him out. “My base is out of service, so no. You don't happen to have a basement I could borrow?”

 

Just as Mickey was about to answer, suddenly Lip walked in out of fucking no where. “Fuck off Frank. You blew up Shiela's house the other night, we need at least part of our Neighbourhood left.” Lip pushed the drunk out of the way, leaning with his elbow against the bar towards Mickey.

 

“Fuck” Mickey laughed around his not-yet lit cigarette. “Bet she's pissed.” he inhaled a couple of drags before passing it over to Lip. It wasn't usual for them to even converse nevermind share _anything._ If Lip was coming to him some serious shit must be happening.

 

“What Shiela? Pissed off fumes or pissed because her batshit crazy house got blown up?” Lip rhetorically asked because the answer was probably both. “She legged it, got in a RV and drove off.” With a swift hand he gestured for a drink.

 

Veronica barged out from where she was cleaning a couple of glasses. “What did I tell you about smoking in here, Jesus Mickey.” Shaking her head she violently filled the glass up with whatever Lip wanted, slamming it down with full force.

 

“Fucking go on Shiela.” Mickey laughed into a hopeless cheer. His eyes diverted to a stressed out Veronica, he frowned towards her deliberately taking one last drag and putting it out. “Fuck off, I still own half of this joint so I get a say in where I smoke in here.”

 

Veronica swung the towel over her shoulder, shit she had been living with Kev for way to long. Mickey downed the rest of his Jacks and pushed his glass towards her. “You wanna smoke go the fuck outside, we don't want that toxic shit affecting the milk upstairs.”

 

“Milk? You selling Frank's shit now?” Lip interrupted, scrunching his face up towards Frank who was absently trying to inherit himself into the conversation. Mickey groaned from his spot, his hand rubbing against the skin of his forehead.

 

“Fed's cleared out the girls upstairs. Now we got some sort of fucking baby clinic going on, fucking disgusting.” He laughed aimlessly, sipping at the booze Veronica yet again laid out in front of him. It was still fresh on his mind why the hell Lip was even here, why he was _even_ talking to Mickey.

 

Veronica opened the bar panel, “It's natural you grumpy shit. All them whores you had sucking dick upstairs was _disgusting.”_ With that, it was just Lip and Mickey again. Staring into their glasses like Frank was probably doing, a brisk silence basking over them.

 

“So, why the fuck are you here Lip. You don't just check up on me, so what the fuck is it.” Mickey snapped, wiping his mouth from where his drink had dribbled a bit. He felt Lip burying his eyes into his back, _would he just fuck off already._

 

Lip shifted on the spot, something he always did if he couldn't get his words out. “Ian was meant to meet me an hour ago, he at your place?” It wouldn't have bothered him that much if Ian hadn't of text him saying “On my way, just taking a detour.” A detour was made to make things quicker, and now Ian _still_ wasn't there. Mickey would know, surely.

 

“What the fuck would I know, I ain't his keeper.” Inside, he was worrying like fuck now. Maybe, yeh, he could show all his affections to Ian, when they were alone, but not to his fuckwit of a brother. Lip ran his fingers through his hair, a little part of him told himself that maybe Ian had gone on one of his adventures, trying to find himself. Mickey sighed hard. “He left my place at about half 8, thought he was with you?”

 

“Obviously not, why the fuck would I be asking?” Lip fiddled for his phone, bringing it up to the surface of the bar, his eyes throwing daggers towards it. “I tried ringing him but he ain't answering, can you do that tracking phone thing?”

 

Mickey turned his face with a scowl, “Oh yeh, I just go tracking his phone whenever he goes for a fucking walk. Jesus, I use disposables so old dealers don't bust my ass.” He shook his head like it was obvious, trying not to show how his heart was speed up because Ian _always_ answered his phone to family. “Thought you were meant to be the genius.”

 

“You think I can afford a high-tech phone?”

 

“What and you think I can? Ian is probably running around trying to burn all of his fucking energy off.” Mickey stated, wanting the whole conversation to finish..like now. Lip was still standing next to him like a dawdling puppy, it made him angsty just like it would when Ian would act stranger than usual; this night he looked fine,smiling like a idiot with a facial problem.

 

Veronica stepped back behind the bar, quickly catching up with the whole conversation. Tapping the top of the bar to make Frank pay up she turned to them. “Jesus, do you guys ever get on. Kev saw Ian on the beach and hour ago when he went for diaper pick up, why don't you go check that out instead of arguing like Frank does with his glass.” She turned on her heel, holding a crate full of beers. Mickey and Lip nodded towards eachother, reluctantly.

 

It was nearing midnight and they still hadn't found Ian. Maybe Veronica was lying just so they would stop bickering, but in the back of his mind he knew Ian would probably be here. Most likely waiting for the fucking sunrise.

 

“Why the hell would Ian come out here anyway?” Lip mumbled, obviously trying to make conversation as they were cursing for last two and half hours. Mickey felt awkward, really, the only time he and Lip had ever really talked was about Ian's disorder or if they needed help on a drug run. Besides that, it was fucking awkward.

 

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, exhaling the smoke from his mouth. “Probably waiting for the fucking sunset, he shows me about a million pictures a day of the same fucking sun.” He reminisced the other morning where Ian continuously showed him the same picture but in different angles, he looked at Mickey as if the sunset was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

 

“Were you expecting to see another sun?” Lip teased, laughing to himself while he lit his own smoke up. Mickey flipped him off, still walking towards the shore where they hadn't closely checked yet. Lip gazed his eyes over the line of sight and caught a dose of red hair and pale skin looking towards the crashing waves. “Shit, is that him?”

 

Mickey jumped to turn towards Lip's fingers direction. Once he did he never expected to see a shirtless Gallagher looking out to the sea. They quickly jogged over, their smokes long gone in the sand now. Mickey was the first to reach him, not yet grabbing Ian's attention. It was incredibly cold and the wind was starting to blow worse now, he placed his hand against Ian's forearm, already feeling the tingling sheet of ice against his skin. “Ian what the fuck are you doing out here?”

 

Lip watched as the local thug, he had slowly started accepting was his brothers lover, was trying to speak to Ian. Before he knew it he was stood behind him, almost defensively. “Yo, little brother. Where's your clothes.” Ian still didn't turn, his eyes fixated on the movements of the sea. Mickey could sea the tears pricking up in the corners of his eyes, the darkness making it harder for him to recognise the red puffy rims.

 

“I couldn't do it.” Ian whispered, his eyes glancing from his arms and back up to the sea. “It seemed so easy, that I could just _do it._ Monica always made it look easy.” Lip then recognised that Ian was talking about; Mickey, however, never learned what happened that day.

 

Mickey ran his eyes from Ian and to Lip. Lip looked angry, his eyes showing a glint that all Gallagher's must have. It was confusing and concerning what did he not know? “What, what couldn't you do? _Ian?_ ” It was getting more frantic now, he wanted to take Ian home away from all of this.

 

“He's going to fucking kill himself. Leaving us like Monica was trying to do.” Lip spat, sounding more angry than he should. Mickey was pushed back, _kill himself,_ what, no. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around Ian's shoulders.

“Fuck off for a minute, aright?” Mickey pointed to Lip, even though he was his brother was exactly helping. Lip stepped back, wiping through his hair as he felt the world closing again. “Ian, hey Ian. Listen to me. I don't know why you think you can just leave and not expect all us to fucking know, but you ain't dying tonight.” he felt Ian tense against his words. “Is that why you kept saying you were sorry the other night? Jesus, christ Ian.”

 

“Mickey, it just- it just hurts so fucking much.” Ian wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands, finally, turning around to see Mickey. It was clear as day that he was a bundling mess of pure emotion, his eyes already sinking into his skin. “I don't want to be here, like _this.”_

 

Mickey felt frozen, but he knew he couldn't just stand there. He wrapped his hands around Ian, bringing his chest against his own. “Fuck you Gallagher. Fuck you. You don't get to just leave me, after everything we have been through you don't just get to do that. Fuck, I know it hurts, but were getting through this, aright, fists flying and all that shit.” For the first time in his life he felt the rise of comfort towards others burst through. Only for Ian.

 

Ian hesitantly nodded against Mickey's neck, his sobs retching against his skin. Mickey rubbed at his back, the feeling of crumbling on the breach; he let Ian get like this, he left him thinking it would all blow over. “Shit, I'm fucking sorry Ian, but you need to talk to me. I can't fucking help you if you don't.” Ian didn't nod, not yet, Mickey glanced over to Lip and nodded towards him to come back over; it was settled for now, he hoped.

 

“Lets go home.” Mickey sternly commanded, helping Ian get fully into the coat. Lip walked over, his eyes not yet matching up to Ian's. The three of them walked back onto the street, Ian still shaking, Mickey still fuming at how stupid he had been.


	26. I'll promise you I will keep you safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26) Kiss his head when he's upset

The Gallagher's had just left after a long, lecture towards Ian. Mickey knew it was for the best, they had seen shit like this before, and to be honest the only experience with suicide was his mother, a long time ago. Lip had rang Fiona, still angry at Ian, demanding she came down to the Milkovich home as soon as possible. All of them showed up, telling Mickey that they needed to talk to Ian _alone_ so they could tell him what needed to happen, and what was best for him. Mickey didn't understand why he wasn't aloud to listen, he was part of Ian's life too. He had a say in all of this as much as they did. He couldn't yet make sense of Ian trying to kill himself, Ian was ready to leave the world, leave Mickey, and not expect cracks in the figure once he left. Mickey felt his heart sink in a way he never felt before, he felt his throat clogging up into a choke hold, holding his breath for him. It honestly, scared the shit out of him, more than Terry more than any beaten down he had experienced. It was only a matter of seconds that could of caused the thin line between Ian still being there and lying dead against the sandy shore. 

 

Before they left he had been Four beers down and he heard the bedroom door crack open, Mickey turned his head and saw Lip and Fiona peep out of the room. He guessed the others were just hugging him and all that shit they tended to do, but by the look on the elders faces he knew that whatever they were going to say was not good. Lip sat down in a chair opposite Mickey, Fiona just took the table as a seat. “Mickey, we need to talk.” 

 

“You're sending him away.” Mickey stole their thunder, blurting out the only answer he knew they would take to. Fiona and Lip sighed to themselves, knowing that Mickey would put up a fight. As soon as Fiona had told him about hospitalization he flipped, he couldn't have Ian being treated like he was fucking crazy. “You're just going to fucking pawn him off to some crazy hospital?” 

 

Lip stood up abruptly, not noticing the kids coming out of the room. “I don't give a shit about what you feel Mickey, this is about Ian. He's fucking messed up, he needs help.” Mickey could of guessed Lip would turn into the asshole he always was, he knew that maybe being “friends” with the fuck would never work out. 

 

“You think I don't see that's there's something wrong with him? I'm not agreeing to this, I promised him I wouldn't fucking send him there!” That was true, he had told Ian one night that he wouldn't let them take him away; that they would just sort this shit out for themselves, like they always fucking did. 

 

Fiona took a seat, close to Mickey. She waved her hand for Lip to stop as soon as he tried to open his mouth to shout shit back. “Mickey, I know you want to care for Ian. We all fucking do, but we've seen this before. We can't let him turn into Monica.” 

 

Mickey grimaced at the name, he blamed her for all this as much as he did himself. Fucking genes. “He's not fucking Monica. What's wrong with the pills we've been giving him?” All the pills had been working till that day, but Fiona had talked about low lows and high highs, so its obvious that Ian would feel like that. He hated how he was starting to believe the two persuading him. 

 

“He tried to fucking kill himself, what happens if we don't get there quick enough next time? Huh?.” Fiona listed off things that Mickey didn't even want to think about. “What then Mickey? We can't fucking risk it.” Lip nodded, walking over to the quiet others and leading them out of the door. They all look scared, confused something that kids shouldn't look like after seeing their brother. Mickey always felt guilty for that. Fuck. 

 

Now, it was just him and Fiona and the wall blocking them from Ian. Fiona squeezed his shoulder, her eyes glazed over with tears just as they were the day Ian didn't get up. “These doctors they will even things out, help him control himself better. Med's stolen from the hospital aren't going to last forever.” Mickey still looked reluctant, not wanting to agree or disagree because he seriously, did not know. “We have to send him.” she added. 

 

Mickey nodded slowly, trying to process what he was agreeing to. Fiona left giving him a hug and a few tips of what to do after all the shit that happened that night. As soon as the door closed his knocked his head against the wooden panel. The house was painfully silent and it was at a point where he couldn't take it no more. Then he heard a gush of water coming from the bathroom, his heart speeding up like a ton of bricks, Ian could be using this opportunity.

 

He sprang up to the open bathroom door, not sure what to expect. As he reached the door he saw the scrunched up clothes abandoned on the floor, his eyes trailing towards to bath in which Ian was huddled in. The redhead was clutching his knees, his chin resting against them as he rocked against the spot. The water from the shower head was beating against his skin, making it pink around the pale skin of his shoulder blades. Mickey stood in silence, not yet sure what to do.  _Toughen up you coward._

 

Kneeling against the side of the bath, not caring that the spilt water soaked into his jeans, he leaned his arm over the side. Before he could speak Ian beat him to it, his mouth muffled by the sound of the water. “Not you too. Don't fucking say it.” it wasn't spat out like a spit of blood, it sounded broken; a hundred cracks in one voice. 

 

Mickey instantly knew what Ian was referring too, he had expected Lip and Fiona to ask him about the hospital. He knew that they would have tried to persuade him that it was best, that it would help him in the long-run. Mickey knew that it was for the best, he just didn't know how to express it. “I never wanted to fucking send you there Ian, and you know that.” 

 

Ian rocked against his legs, his shoulder repeatedly brushing against Mickey's limp hand that was hanging over the side. “You promised, you said we would work this out.” He could sense the betrayal and fuck, it was fucking him up. 

 

“I know I fucking did, do you not think I know that?” Shit. He didn't mean to shout out and make Ian flinch against the water. It was all like a pressure canon, waiting for him tick and boom it would all be in shambles. Ian just curled in himself more, noticing the way Mickey's hand had moved from the side of the bath.

 

“I'm not going, I'm not.” Ian bit through his teeth, his mind still in the sense of denial. The room seemed smaller now, his ears clogging up with the fogginess of fear. Mickey's warmth was still there but it was fading, he could feel it fading because they would send him away. 

 

Mickey rubbed at his eyes, ,shifting against the bath so his breath was nearly touching Ian's skin. “You have to, Ian. If not for me then for your fucking family?” Ian only moved, tensing while Mickey's hand rested on his wet shoulder. “These doctors they will help you, you need the proper fucking medication not shit Iggy happened to find off the back of a truck.” 

 

“I'm not sick.”

 

Mickey jolted up, frustration grinding on him like a grater against his knees. “Fucking hell, do you hear yourself right now? A couple of hours ago you were trying to fucking off yourself?! Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was, huh?” It didn't matter who was in the house, he needed to put this across. It was all hidden inside the day he had seen Ian curled up against the sheets. Kneeling down again, he spoke softer, “I have to make sure that you don't do that shit again, make sure that your  _sane._ But you need professionals, I can't promise your family that I can keep you safe like this.” 

 

It wasn't an agreement, more of an acknowledgement. Ian burst into a ruin of tears, his whole back arching in shakes. Mickey was quickly diverted back to the floor. Bringing the taller, but fragile, boy closer he wrapped his arms around his neck. He didn't give a shit about the water spraying against his clothes, Ian was at his chest heaving out sobs that didn't remotely sound human. Just as he had felt, that day he had come out, he needed that comfort. Ian  _knew_ he was going to get taken to that hospital, but he needed that reassurance that it was worth it. He drew the red hair towards planting a kiss ontop of his head. “It fucking sucks, but we've gotta do this.”


	27. twenty-seven fucking days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27) Hug, alot

Ian was leaving today, not forever, but for 27 days. Mickey had gobbed off, insanely angry that they were keeping him in for so long. Fiona had explained that they needed to keep him long enough to find the best medication for him, that it might take a little while for Ian to adjust correctly to them. Twenty-seven fucking days without Gallagher, he hadn't been away from him in that long since...since.. he didn't even fucking remember because not matter what he did he found ways to see the guy. 

 

They were all stood inside of the hospital, next to a door that would be separating Ian from the rest of them for almost a month. The Gallagher's swarmed him with hugs and little jokes of the trade, Kev and V even came with them to show that they too cared. Mickey wished Mandy had been there, she would have been distraught to know that Ian needed that kind of help. He waited till Fiona had hugged him, again and again, he didn't want to progress his affections more than Ian accounted for. 

 

Lip palmed his shoulder, pulling the Carl to the others who were stood closely behind. Ian stood awkwardly, his fingers playing with themselves. The redhead didn't look up, his body swaying on the spot as if he was waiting for something. Mickey stepped up, bracing himself for the last time he would see him for the next twenty-seven fucking days. 

 

They stared at eachother, Ian weakly smiled causing Mickey's insides to shatter. “You will come see me right?” he asked quietly, a sense of hope in his voice like a sharp piece of glass. They had managed to get Ian to come to the place; if he refused Mickey was all in for dragging his ass down. They were not _pawning_ him off because they couldn't cope no more, they just couldn't see Ian being so frail, not accounting that his life mattered too. Mickey needed Ian to get better, not for him, but because Ian deserved that little bit of happiness, fuck, he had earned it.

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, aimlessly dragging the taller boy into a hug. “Of course I'm going to come see you. If they try to chuck me out I will fucking break in, so either way I'm gonna be here.” He and Carl had it all planned out, if they didn't let Ian go they would drive Iggy's truck straight into the building.

 

“Please don't hit the staff” Ian laughed into Mickey's collar, his hands wrapped tightly against Mickey because he seriously didn't want to let go. Mickey had already hit one doctor for nearly saying Ian was crazy, they all had to pull him away before he got them all kicked out.

 

Mickey pulled away, his hands still resting against Ian's sides. Fuck, the face he was looking at right now wasn't going to be there for twenty-seven days. He really needed to stop repeating that, everytime he said it, it seemed longer. “I can't promise nothing Gallagher. Just don't go fucking any pretty boy's in here alright?” 

 

Ian shook his head, in a gesture of _alright, but just for you ,_  a smile breached on his lips for the first time in months. “I will miss you, y'know.” All the others heard, little aw's echoing through the hall like constant chatter. Mickey turned and flipped them off. 

 

“Well, I ain't gonna miss you stealing my eggs that's for fucking sure.” Mickey tutted his lips, tilting his head like he always did when he was playing. Ian took it as a _I miss you too,_ because Mickey was a secret romantic at heart. Once again he pulled him into a hug, “I'll wait for you.” 

 

Ian scoffed into his neck, placing a gentle kiss to the skin. “Mick, its twenty-seven days you're acting like its a lifetime.” As Mickey tilted his head up to look at him, Ian captured his lips for the last time. The feeling like a gold rush, he didn't want to leave it, leave him, but he had to keep telling himself its worth it. _its worth it._

 

It lasted long enough, enough for Mickey to want to cry because he knew he wasn't getting that for a while- a while without Gallagher's kiss was a fucking lifetime, he didn't know jackshit. “It's nearly a fucking month, what am I meant to do with myself?” he acted as if he didn't have a job, or a kid to look after.

 

“I don't know, have like a million wanks or somethin'. Or you could do something useful like sorting the Rub N' Tug out or helping out with Yev...” He trailed off, counting issues that Mickey had been pushing aside all those months, his face looking slightly guilty because Mickey's attention had always been on him.

 

“I'mma take jacking off as a better offer.” He pushed their forehead's together, still uncomfortable with the others watching their asses like hawks. “You get better, yeh.” he kissed his lightly, finally pulling away from the awkward hug. 

 

“Twenty-seven days.” Ian pointed towards him, his eyes holding dark rims but still holding that spark Mickey knew so well. 

 

Mickey nodded his head, his heart swelling at the thought of the dragged, unGallagher life he would have to lead for that space of time. “Twenty-seven fucking days.”


	28. fuck, you're just a kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28) talking to their family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought Debbie shouldn't really smoke, but fuck I do so I can't really say shit. I needed for somewhere to have the Debbie/matty situation because I don't want it to be brushed underneath the carpet. I was really shocked that it actually happened and how quickly Lip brushed it off. Anyway.... I needed some in-law sibling bonding

Ian had been gone a week,he still wasn't being allowed granted visits until the following week. Mickey had only gone away with the “jacking off for twenty-seven days” plan for at least two of them, he got bored making shit up in his mind; shit about Ian, that just made him want it in person even fucking more. So, he had to find other ways to tackle his boredom, besides looking after the kid or looking after the even bigger kid Kev who had been pranking him none stop. Seriously, since he shaved his head he turned into some thug-like teenager again.

 

Mickey needed, well wanted, some of Ian's clothes. Not for a sentimental and rather soppy outtake, but for the reason all of his sweats had holes in them because Iggy apparently mistaken them for an astray when he was drunk.  _Fucking wise guy._ When he got to the steps of the house he was welcomed by the ginger Gallagher, who unusually was holding a smoke in-between her fingers. 

 

“You fucking smoking?” He questioned, stopping at the bottom of the steps, his eyes squinting upwards. Debbie was puffing away, on what looked like Lip's stolen fags. She had a stern look on her face that told him, due to experience with Ian, that she was pissed. It was as if she was giving the sky “the chin” that they were all popular for.

 

The redhead shrugged her shoulders, turning to him with a frown. “What's it to you? Lip smokes  _even_ Ian smokes. You smoke too, so what the heck is the problem with me doing it?”She took a long, drawn out inhale and Mickey wondered how the hell she could inhale like a professional, jesus. 

 

“ _Jesus,_ Chill your beans lady.” He took the pace up the steps, complementing whether or not to go in , get Ian's shit and do a run for it. From what it looked like Debbie didn't look to good, usually she was probably the happiest, right now she looked like murder was on her mind. Not thinking, he took a seat next to her on the step, taking the smoke from between her fingers and taking a drag. “What's going on kid?”

 

Debbie gave him a shroud look, sighing heavily. “Oh you know, the usual.” She didn't expect Mickey to pass back the cigarette, but she took it happily. Mickey pulled out his own pack, pulling out two fags and holding one in his palm to his side.

 

He lit up one of them, nudging Debbie's leg with his own. “So you've got a shitting baby and a bar full of breastfeeding mom's to sort out? Shit, that's stressful for you age.” he spoke sarcastically, his eyes waiting for Debbie to gleam up just like Ian did. Fuck, they were so alike.

 

“Well, you could class Frank as a shitting baby.” Debbie pointed out, chuckling as Mickey nodded. Stubbing out the cigarette she sighed again, her ramble at the breach of her throat; she wasn't sure whether Mickey wanted to hear it, it wasn't like they talked _anyway._

 

Mickey puffed out some smoke, before elbowing the ginger next to him again. “So, you gonna tell me what's up or have I gotta sit here and watch you fucking mope at the sky.” he shook his head from any sweat, his tanktop possibly melting against his skin now. The smoking wasn't exactly helping but he didn't really give a shit.

 

Debbie hesitated but spoke anyway, aslong as one person would listen. “So Carl's been getting all oral active all of a sudden-

 

“Woah, what the fuck?” Mickey spluttered from his inhale, not really wanting the know the current information of Carl's mouth activities, nor if anyone has been near his fucking dick. Just no. “Do I really have to hear this?”

 

“Just listen, okay?” Debbie carried on, her hand resting on her knee's. “So I threw a party here, with some of Franks alcohol, because I wasn't going to let Carl loose his virginity before me. I invited Matty, you remember Matty?”

 

Mickey scrunched his brow, he remembered Ian mentioning him but that was about it. “No, but go on.” Shit, did he really want to listen about Ian's teenage kid sister loosing her virginity, it kinda made him want to be sick.

 

“Anyway, we went upstairs and we went to my room and we...-” She made a gesture with her hands that was morally irrelevant to what she was trying to say. Mickey rolled his eyes, not yet grasping why she was upset if she finally fucked a guy.

 

“You fucked him.” Mickey put it straight, still finishing off his smoke as she continued with the story. He waved his hand so the silence didn't linger to much, fuck, he hated the silence.

 

Debbie sighed, but nodded anyway. “The thing is, when I met him the day after he said he didn't even remember it. He was pretty wasted but I thought he wanted it, he showed me  _all_ the signs y'know? But he kept saying that he was way to drunk and that I raped him?” She had her body turned to him now, eyes wide with dear mixed with question. “I didn't right, I don't know. Guys don't ever care where their dick goes”

 

Mickey let the smoke burn at his fingers, his mind still trying to address the situation. “Did you ask him first, before you got down and dirty?” Debbie made a face but shrugged her shoulders. Mickey sat forward, stubbing his cigarette out against the stairs. “Debs, even if he didn't say no it doesn't mean he wanted it. You gotta make sure he wants it first. Not all guys want their dick being sat on all the fucking time, that's why you gotta ask.” His mind hit back to when his dad tried to get Svetlana to “fuck the faggot out of him”- it was all in the past now,  _let it go._

 

“But that's the thing, I thought he did.” She tried to explain, tears forming in her eyes because fuck, they were all sensitive fuckers in this family. “I really, _really_ liked him Mickey, But he told me to never see him again. Even Lip says to stay away.” 

 

“I know you didn't mean it, like fuck, you're just a kid. Do what Matty says, just leave him.” Mickey felt weird giving anyone advice, nevermind Ian's little sister. “You can move on, its just a fucking mistake. God knows how many I've made in my life.” He pulled Debbie into a awkward side hug, not really sure why he did but it felt right. “But I ain't saying it ain't serious, you gotta make sure they want to do it before you go for it. What you did was wrong, alright?”

 

Debbie smiled weakly as she nodded, still upset. “Am I a bad person?” Her voice innocent and calling out for him. Mickey looked her up and down as if he was calculating an answer.

 

“No, kid. You just made bad choices.” He saw her face drop, he immediately needed to pick this up. “But if you didn't make bad choices you wouldn't be a fucking Gallagher would you?” He tilted his head to tell her he was right, because they had all made bad mistakes in that family, who hadn't made bad choices?

 

“Like if you hadn't beaten someone up _ever_ , you wouldn't be a Milkovich?” She asked from her spot, watching Mickey as he lifted himself up off the stairs and wiped the back of his pants. It felt good to see her at least a bit lifted up.

 

Mickey nodded, one hand on his hip, he didn't really know why he was stood like that. “I guess so.” He pulled out his freehand, holding his extra smoke in-between his fingertips dangling it towards Debbie. She beamed up at him, knowing he meant it as a peace offering. “Don't go too wild with it. Just don't make it a habit right? Ian would fry my fucking ass.”

 

“Right, thanks Mickey.” She pulled out a lighter she had nicked from the table. She lit it up as Mickey smiled on his way in to retrieve some sweats that he nearly forgot about.


	29. I lie awake at night thinking about you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29)Falling asleep when on the phone to eachother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this to be set at the point where Ian is only just realising his denial against his disorder, and is possibly struggling with the frustration of different med's, being away from home, and crying all of the time. I turned it sappy, again.

>  

_Stupid fucking people. Stupid fucking crazy prison. Stupid fucking doctors with their scowls and forceful hands, they can go fuck themselves._ Ian repeatedly smacked his hand against his head, the four walls surrounding him as if they were merging into one. _Fuck this, fuck everything. Its all shit, it all will be shit._ “Shut up, shut the fuck up.” Ian cried out into his pillow, trying to push away the thoughts that were crucially invading his mind like the plague. It got harder every day, but he reminded himself why he was there; who was relying on him to get better.

 

All he had to keep telling himself that if he did this, if he carried on, he could see Carl fuck up the next houses hamsters; he would see Debbie and her smart mind work ways of magic; Seeing Fiona get better probably unscrewing her tag; Seeing Lip be an asshole but mean it in a good way. How could he forget Liam and his little smile that could light up the night like day. Then there was, of course, _his_ one. Mickey. He would give anything to just taste those lips, heck, just to see them. The shit he would do, risk even kill just to see Mickey and beable to hold him in his arms like he had been doing for basically the last year. All he wanted was to see his funnily, established, family at the Milkovich home fussing over Yev and kissing everyone goodbye on the cheek.

 

Fifteen more days. That's all it was. That’s _all_ it fucking was. Jesus, he wasn't sure if he could last that long. There had been tests, different medications and the days weren't even finished yet, they _still_ hadn't found the correct one. They even made him cry way too much, making him worse that what he had been, or make him way to manic to even control. Tonight, it was the dosage of the voices. They were stronger, pulling him to the edge that was so close in reach.

 

Ian would never forget his stealing days, shit, he may have learned his morals but it wasn't like he was stealing from his own neighbourhood. The hospital had an office, one in which the head guy would flick through files and look at their progress. One night Ian said he needed a smoke, they had told him no, that smoking was a easy effect that could mess up with his med's. One guard, that he had become particularly good friends with, she reminded him of Mandy. He missed Mandy. She let him out, thinking he was having a smoke, but instead he used it in his advantage to pick lock the office and grab a nearest, disposable phone.

 

All he needed, just to cope for tonight, was _his_ voice.

 

The dial rung like an awaiting death sentence, telling him that it wouldn't pick up and save him from the end. “What?” Ian tried to smile at the typical Milkovich answer, the snarky attitude of a very grumpy Mickey.

 

Ian gasped in the air, his lungs ready to contract. “Mickey?”

 

“Wait. Shit, Ian? Are you alright?” The other boy's voice suddenly jolted up, the rustle in the background signalling that he had sat up against the headboard of the bed. Ian was sat by the window in his room now, looking out at the empty parking lot and the bristle wind against the bushes.

 

“I just wanted- _needed_ to hear you.” Ian barely was able to get out, he was surprised that the phone was still in his hands with the amount of shaking his body was possessing. His head kept whipping back to the door, hoping that no one would hear and barge in when he was so close to _finally_ speaking to Mickey after the what seemed like, a dragged miserable time.

 

Ian could hear Mickey trying to form words on the other line, the sweet smack of his tongue against his lips by the phone. “They better be fucking treating you good in there, I'm not afraid of breaking kneecaps Gallagher never-mind skinning a mother-fucker.”

 

The redhead grinned against the phone, the new over-protective side to Mickey being his new favourite thing. Eyes still leaking and that longing sense of fear still there he managed to calm himself enough to hear Mickey's breathing. “No, they're good. Really good.”

 

Mickey sounded more concerned, just like he did the day at the beach. Ian could never forgive himself for the look in Mickey's eye that day. “Then what is it?” Mickey sounded almost like a child, his voice softer that Ian would have imagined from the ball of fire.

 

“What If they never find me the right Med's?” He began to get shaky again, the sobs on verge to crumble him. Letting out a little laugh he made his way back over to the cot-like bed that he hated to call his home for the next fifteen days. “It's just, I'm like a hormonal pregnant woman, I'm fucking sick of it.”

 

Mickey huffed out a snort on the other side of the phone, his movements fast as he moved into another room. “Well, I'm sat next to a hormonal pregnant woman, she's fucking crying at titanic for the first time. Jesus, I would choose your snotty nose over hers.” He heard a slap in the background and a mumble of Russian, it fucking killed him how much he missed that house full of various noises, the light of the Milkovich house was all he wanted; even if the bulbs were dangling off a string elevated from the ceiling.

 

“How is she?” Ian asked, just wanting that sense of normality of hearing about back home.

 

“She's chucking shoes at the Telly because “there's room for two people on that fucking door” apparently.” Ian smirked against the phone, just picturing the two sat next to eachother bitching about Jack having to die, Ian knew Mickey secretly felt the same way about the door. “wait, how the fuck you ringing me anyway. They took my phone off me when I came in yesterday.”

 

Ian pulled the covers up to his chin, the ceiling the only view at this moment. “I might be in a fucking crazy prison but I still know how to steal, Mick.”

 

“Alright lock stock. And it's not a fucking crazy, aright, you ain't fucking crazy.” He said it because he knew Ian felt it, he knew the redhead would have been rambling that idea in his head all night. He knew that the phone call was because he was slowly breaking and Mickey was his rock, he knew that now. Ian yawned from his side of the phone, his med's finally kicking it. “Am I boring you Gallagher?”

 

“No, its these med's they knock me out. I swear they do it because I chat to much.” He heard Mickey chuckle from the other side of the phone, again hearing a rustle from his movements.

 

“Right, I have an idea. Lets both go the fuck to sleep, you can stay on here if you want.” Mickey suggested, pulling himself into bed with the phone clasped to his ear.

 

Ian scrunched his brow, was Mickey actually suggesting something rather romantic. “Why?” His voice came out in a husky rasp. He, too, heard Mickey yawn and felt guilty that he woke him up in the first place. “Sorry I woke you.”

 

“Fuck off Gallagher, now shut your eyes you big sop.”

 

Ian shut his eyes, smiling a little against the darkness. He had never been so grateful for having Mickey, he wanted to show him the world for everything he pushed aside just to look after him. “Night Mick.”

 

Mickey scoffed against the phone, his heart telling him that Ian's was a little off shaky. “I'm coming to see your ass tomorrow so you better be up early. Night Firecrotch- and shut those fucking eyes I know you've got them open.”


	30. You ain't going to say shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30) His responsibilities are your responsibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I guess due to the promo we kind know they might be having a break so I'm writing these fics to have that little sense of security for sure; soz mate. 
> 
> Anyway, I love the idea of Mickey looking after the little Gallagher clan

The Gallagher house was loud, a crazeball of madness, as usual, and Mickey had to walk through it, _alone._ The therapy session he had been pulled into today, with Ian, hadn't gone as well as he planned. Through to the blatant dick of a doctor, Ian had to reveal _everything_ that including what Ian had told him weeks prior. It still hurt with anger, now, even though it was a while back; Ian had that shrugged expression, his mouth forming the words of “I did a porno.” Mickey spat against the step, it still angered him now. After Ian had explained everything, the guy offering him money for a cheaply made sex tape, the fact that he did it a couple of times, it made Mickey burn up. It made him want to smash everything in contact, so he ran out. Ian didn't whine and didn't chase, he knew what Mickey was setting out to do. 

 

Mickey burst through the door, nearly knocking into Carl who was prodding along on his crutches. The kid looked tired, almost as if he had been working for long hours. Mickey barged past him, chucking a confused look behind his shoulder. The door slammed as Carl left the house, Debbie emerged from the stairs with Liam on her hip. 

 

“Oh Hey Mickey, how's Ian doing?” She walked towards the kitchen, pulling out some cut up food and giving it to Liam to chew aimlessly at. Mickey eyes scanned the room, it was particularly un-Gallagherized in the house. There was a lump of laundry to do, and piles of plates to clean. Debbie pulled out two bowls, rinsing them under the tap before opening the fridge. 

 

“He's doing good, just uh, coping I guess.” Mickey began to climb the stairs, Debbie gave him a questing look.“I left my gun here, just getting it.” 

 

Debbie turned her head, suddenly interested. Her hands were resting around the bowls, almost protectively. “Why do you need a gun? Someone try to steal from the bar again?” Jesus, Kev and his loud mouth. He was going to ruin their scary-look reputation if he wasn't lucky. 

 

As he bolted up the stairs he shouted back down, “Some fucker needs to bleed.” he proceeded to bask through Ian's drawers, pushing away the shirts and tubs of empty lube, until he hit jackpot. There was his gun, the one that he had given to Ian incase shit when down, he didn't really know why but he needed to know that Ian was armed at some point, the neighbourhood wasn't sunshine and fucking rainbows. As he ran back downstairs, breathing on his sleeve and using it to wipe the gun he asked, “Aren't you meant to be out with your friends or some shit, don't you got Fiona to look after the little guy?” 

 

Debbie sighed, picking up strayed bread that had fallen from Liam's plate. “What friends?” Mickey eyed her, narrowly with a quick smirk. Ian and Debbie was defiantly just the same. “Fiona got some new guy to fuck, she hasn't been home in a couple of days. She asked me to look after Liam until she gets back.” As if it was the most natural thing to do, she heated the soup up she had poured out from the tin, using a spoon to stir it in the pan. 

 

Mickey really needed to go, like really. Iggy had a fucking track on this creepy-ass-porno-sadist that needed to be beaten, raw. The fact was, was that Ian wasn't there to actually look after the kids, Fiona wasn't there because obviously love affairs are inportant when there's a family you gotta look after; Lip was out in some fancy ass apartment with his fancy ass girlfriend. So who the fuck could look after the other three? Ian would have stayed, he would have made sure they weren't left alone. Mickey really did want to bolt, usually he had Ian there to help talk to his family. But, fuck, he did feel guilty for the kids staying there without any adult to be seen. “So who the fuck is looking after you,  _Frank?_ ” Seriously, if that was the case he would drop his gun now. 

 

“We can take care of ourselves Mickey.” Debbie snapped back, her hand still stirring the soup as the other pushed Liam back onto the seat he was slowly falling off. Mickey balanced himself against the table, the gun falling onto the wood as he thought for a moment. 

 

“Clearly. Carl is a fucking cripple and you're here playing mother to your brother. Fuck, watch that soup, Jesus.” He pushed past her, turning the stove off. The soup had spat at her, the liquid landing on her arm causing her to cry out a little. Instinctively, Mickey turned on the cold tap pushing her arm underneath it.  Shit, if this was going to happen _even_ when Mickey was there, what the fuck would happen if he wasn't, bloody riot or Carls blowing up fantasies would come to life. “Right, after this creep gets a beat down – maybe break his legs a little- I'm coming down here, you ain't going to say shit because God fucking knows what will happen to this house if you lot are left alone in it.” 

 

Debbie frowned, her hand tingling from the sudden burn. Mickey walked back over to the table, quickly pocketing his gun. “We are doing fine on our own Mickey, does the house look like Shiela's to you?” she waved her hands around until they finally fell to her hips. “Anyway, Carl has weapons we can protect ourselves, duh. Plus, I'm taking classes.”

 

“In what? I'm guessing it ain't fucking cooking.” He teased, feeling his phone voibrate and instantly knowing that Iggy was probably sending him threatening texts to get his ass outside. 

 

“No, I'm learning how to fight.” She pushed her chin a little higher, building herself up with pride. Fuck, they were all stubborn fuckers really. Ian was always like that with his army shit, Mickey would just shrug tell him to stop being such a show off and get the fuck on him. Guess times were different. 

 

Mickey nodded his head, knowing that he probably would have to bring Yev with him, because Fuck Svetlana had to go to that shitty surrogate to play pretend. “Good for you, I'm still fucking coming round.” he darted around the table, saluting backwards towards a confusion Debbie, slamming the door as he made his way outside to his awaiting brother. 

 

“Let's fuck this pedo up, lil bro.” Iggy laughed from the drivers seat, pulling out of the curb as soon as Mickey jumped in. 


	31. I never said I was sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31) Surprise him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sister has been in a psychiatric ward and they let her out five days early, but she didn't always stay at home. Some days she still had to go in for check ups and therapy for like 3 months, so I kinda used that to do this with Ian. - I'm not sure how other wards do things, but yeh, hope this was okay. 
> 
> I wish this is the way it would go in the show, but its shameless- we could of guessed things were take a turn for the worst, lul.

“Fucking hell, I knew I should of never left it to you two fucking idiots.” Mickey screamed as he urged the door open with a swift kick. Svetlana was in the middle of feeding Yevgeny, mess all over the new glass table, that Mickey had nicked from a rich family back down in North side. The two looked up, staring as Mickey continued gripping at his hair and aimlessly reaching for his gun.

 

Behind him Iggy trailed in, Kev close to his back, a hat against his head. “Do it yourself next time, we almost got caught trying to deal that shit. Where did you get that shit from anyway?” Iggy dropped himself onto the couch, chucking his gun onto the coffee table. Kev followed in, moving towards the table where his new found buddies were giggling.

 

Mickey groaned into his hands, _can this get any fucking worse. “_ They were cheap fucking Es from old Lennie down the block, do you have any idea how much you two assholes have cost me? Jesus, Christ.” He, too, put his gun down scowling to the rest of them as he reached for a beer from the case on the counter. With a quick gust of air into his premature lungs, he finally was able to breath, for once in his fucking life. “Iggy you're selling tomorrow.” he pulled out the chair against the table and slumped into it, his eyes not leaving the label of his bottle. 

 

“Why the fuck have I gotta do it?” Iggy whined from the couch, only the back of his head visible to Mickey.

 

Mickey flicked some rubbish lying on the table towards the two giggling meant-to-be-adults across the table, he had never of guessed kev and Svetlana would become such great friends, seriously. “Because I fucking said so, and Kev couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag if he faced those Mafia fucks.”

 

Kev immediately shot his head up, a scowl across his face. “Ay, watch your mouth I'd rip that paper into tiny little pieces and you know it.” he gestured a ripping motion, rolling his eyes as Mickey flipped him off in return. Eyes scanning the room, he become suddenly confused. It was like a airport in there. “Why the fuck you got a baggage sale going on in your house, this shit is enough to cloth the whole of Chicago.”

 

“Don't fucking ask.” Mickey snapped back, his mind instantly flashing back to Ian's breakdown and determined rush to collect _all_ the bags from baggage claim. “And take that fucking hat off, your not pulling off the whole Marshall Mathers routine, man.” Mickey wanted to head butt the table, or just sleep, the table seemed a tempting ambition.

 

There was a slight silence, music to Mickey's ears, until of course Iggy _literally_ starts singing. “His palms are sweaty, knee's weak arm's – what the fuck is the next line Kev?” he tilted his head on the back of the couch, his lips forming smug as soon as he captured Mickey's death glare.

 

Kev clapped his hands together, turning to Svetlana for motivation but she shrugged going back to Yevgeny who was chuckling in his high chair. Once he got it, he clicked his fingers _way_ to enthusiastically. “MOM'S SPAGETTI.” Iggy laughed from his spot, shouting “yes!” at the top of his lungs, Mickey wanted to off himself right there, right then.

 

Knocking his head against the glass, he mumbled loudly. “Would you two just shut the fuck up, my ears are bleeding here.” Obviously, he didn't get the reaction he wanted. They were all laughing like a fucking bonding group that talk about fucking books and their favourite foods. Svetlana had even starting humming, nodding her head as the other two sang. “She doesn't even fucking know the song, fucking _hell_.”

 

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Yevgeny babbled something with his little chubby hand pointing towards the door. “Aian, Aian!” his little mouth muttered out, a cheerful, glimmering smile bubbling on his yoghurt smothered lips. They all shut up, looking towards the direction of his pointed finger. Mickey, however, was still groaning into the table, his mind not registering that his son just called out for the first time. There was a couple of mumbles and couple of gasps, after the close of a door Mickey felt something fling to his head, like a fucking brick.

 

As soon as he looked up, he saw Kev wide eyed a baby food spoon in his hand. Mickey frowned at him, “What the fuck you do that for?” he rubbed at his head, loving the fact that they finally got silent. “Did he just say Ian? Jesus.” Even the kid was noticing Ian's missing presence. Kev pointed his chin to the direction, other than Mickey, all of their eyes fixed on the same place. Mickey rubbed his eyes, lazily turning around.

 

“Holy shit.” he uttered out. Stood in front of them all, a bag slung over his shoulder, was the one and only Ian Gallagher. The once very pale skin had brightened up, the bags no longer deep in his eyes. Mickey slowly stepped up, eyes wandering over the _bettered_ more bright redhead that he had missed seeing. Seriously, they were fucking with him. They both stared at each other for the spilt moment, eyes locking in a way they hadn't done in a while. Mickey quickly caught the spark he had solely missed, no longer a glint but the wild side still remained.

 

Just as Ian was about to open his mouth, some-how explain why he was out five days early, Iggy jumped in-between them scratching at his forearm. “How the fuck do you find out if you have rabies, some fucking dog bit me yesterday.” Suddenly, the commotion and noise that had been there previous erupted in the air like a machine gun, the others discarding the fact that Mickey and Ian were staring each other down.

 

Ian smiled that long-missed smile, his cheeks flushing. “Hey.” his voice quiet among the other voices in the room; Iggy clanging around shouting about killing a diseased dog, Kev tickling Yev in the chair who wouldn't stop shouting Ian's name. Svetlana was laughing loudly, mumbling in Russian, but yet Mickey still couldn't speak or contribute to Ian's greeting.

 

Ian went ahead, like he knew Mickey was waiting for some answers. “I wish I could say they let me out for _good behaviour”_ He winked towards Mickey, restoring the memory of Mickey disturbing him fucking some Asian, the first time Ian actually recognised some sort of connection, some sort of feeling that Mickey had towards him. “They let me out early because they found me some stable med's, they don't make me cry like a bitch or stop my dick from getting up, so..yeh.”

 

Mickey clicked his tongue, hands tapping against the table. Ian clocked it, moving closer and carrying on with speaking. “I have to go back two times each week for like therapy and check ups, but they said I'm stable enough to go home.” Mickey tensed at the reference to home, he had forgotten how much home wasn't _home_ without Ian. “Say something then you ass.”

 

Mickey's lips tugged up into a smirk, his teeth sinking into his lip. “Holy shit.” He mumbled again, not sure what to say at this point, he was fucking glad that the others weren't watching them like hawks...oh wait, they fucking were. Dicks.

 

Ian shuffled on his feet, wafting his hand towards the others to discard their view of them. Chucking his bag onto the floor he placed his hands on Mickey's shoulders. “There's something else.” Mickey's gulped, his eyes clearly widening. Ian nudged Mickey to the side, his mouth clearly nervous. “I never said I was sorry, for all the shit that happened; Trying to off myself, fucking you over, cheating..-

 

Before he could make the list longer, Mickey abruptly pulled him into a hug. Ian felt shocked, his body turning from tension into pleasurable relaxation. “You missed me, then?”

Mickey could feel everyone watching him but his hands held tighter around the taller boys waist, he could feel Ian laughing against his shoulder but he couldn't help but just _breathe._ Finally, Ian was letting him hug him, hold him, just be there with him. That's all he asked. It would take time sure, Ian had only just got out, he's still in there in a way, but at least he could fucking hold him.


	32. Got to hope we’ll make it through and the light will show the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32) "I love the way he looks right after he's fallen asleep with his head in my lap"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long drabble- not so much drabble - but I couldn't help myself

_So, Ian. I think we need to talk about your past, maybe see where something might have triggered your disorder in the first place._

 

_I thought you said it was inevitable, that it didn't matter about the past. You said that._

 

_I know I did Ian, but it is important to reflect back on the negatives and restore your mental health from there. Maybe we should start with what happened when you went into the army, can you tell me about that?_

 

It was inevitable, his disorder, this _thing,_ he would always have it. Ian didn't want to think back to the worst possible days of his life, that's what started him off, that's what crucially sent him off the rails. How could talking about the army make it hurt any less, he just didn't get it. So what, he flipped. Big fucking deal. He had kicked all the chairs out of the circle, shouting in the faces of the therapist ignoring the faces surrounding him that, too, understood how he was feeling. The drugs, he got, they would help him massively. They would give him that sense of control, the sense that maybe the disorder wasn't such a bad thing as long as he kept track of it, controlling it before it took over him again. Therapy though, he just didn't want to remind himself what a fuck up he was, he didn't want to remind himself of what happened in the army, because for the last months he had been doing _anything_ to remove it from his mind.

 

The bathroom floor was still cold against his exposed calf, his jeans had ripped through his frantic throwing and screaming. The ceiling was not as creative as he wished it to be, the cracks in the plaster were just figures of nothing, in-existence, just like he was. The med's, they were working, but he still felt like lashing out and screaming out to the world. The bathroom he used to calm that, make sure that before Mickey got home he didn't look as if he would blow up like a ticking time bomb, he didn't want to be babied. It had been only two weeks that he had been back, it was all going so, so well. Yet, the world had its ways and it didn't turn for Ian Gallagher.

 

The time, he didn't actually know. When he had gotten in, rage still blaring, Svetlana was just going to bed, Yev fast asleep in her arms. Ian had vacated directly to the bathroom, his own sanity left. It felt like he had been sat in the same spot staring at the same ceiling, for three hours now. Maybe it was one or two, he wasn't sure, he had smashed his phone when trying to run out of the hospital screaming. Luckily, they said he should just cool off and that he _needed time._ Like fuck he needed time, he just needed to forget and cope.

 

Shocking him a little, he heard the front door go. Mickey had gone to work that day, for the first time in the two weeks, he explained he had a late shift and that he wouldn't see Ian until he got into bed that night. Ian had nodded, told him that everything was fine, but looking at himself he noticed Mickey wouldn't say the same thing. Gulping he tried to pull himself up but his legs had fallen dead, he wasn't sure it was because he physically couldn't move or the fact that thinking back to the past had kept its place. See, the thing he had noticed was that it was easy to love someone when they were happy. What was fucking hard, was to love someone when they're crying on the floor of the bathroom at 2am because everything came crashing down, again. Ian wasn't sure if Mickey loved him, he had hoped he did, because Ian had seen “that look”, the thing Mandy always spoke about, and he _knew_ Mickey meant it.

 

“Ian?” He heard from behind the door, not yet close but drawing nearer. “Gallagher, you here?” The concern present in Mickey's voice punched him in the gut, _Ian, you have to think about others. The way that this disorder effects them too._ The words he was told, seem almost true. Without expecting it the bathroom door, that he happened to forget to lock, came springing open, Mickey's head popping around it like he was investigating. “Ian, what you doing in here?”

 

Ian watched as Mickey placed himself in the bathroom, closing the door behind him so it was just them. Mickey knew Ian had been at therapy, he _always_ fucking knew. Ian looked down, drained and some-how angry and he had to get to the bottom of it. Ian shuffled to the side, legs drawing up close to his chest, he made room for the other boy to sit next to him.

 

“Therapy?” Mickey asked, as if he already knew and was just making sure that was what happened. Ian simply nodded, basking in the warmth that Mickey was giving him. “What the fuck did she say this time?” It wasn't the first time this had happened and Mickey knew it wouldn't be the last.

 

“They asked me about the fucking army, I flipped- I couldn't, I just, I can't fucking talk about it. Its like she's pushing me to remember it when I don't want to.” Ian played with his fingers, ripping at the skin burrowing out of the corner of his nails. Mickey had lit up a cigarette blowing out the smoke, away from Ian, as the taller boy spoke slowly.

 

Mickey passed over half of the smoke, knowing that that would be enough for Ian to let off some steam. His first impression of seeing Ian in the bathroom was honestly, scared. Terrified even. Ian was sat, fragile against the side of the bath looking into nothing as Mickey barged through, he didn't want Ian to turn bad again, anything but that. “That's her fucking job though, right? She has to do that to pay her bills, you've just got to deal with it. You never know talking about shit might help.”

 

Ian frowned, his eyes staring at the side of Mickey's face, his eyes trailed along Mickey's jawline, his lips slicking up at the sight of his defined jaw. “You want to know what the worst thing about therapy is?” Mickey turned to Ian's hazed gaze, watching as the smoke left Ian's lips like a delicate dove. Ian carried on, the smoke burning down in his right hand. Mickey nodded to make the other boy elaborate, what he had learned from that shitty place that listening was important when it came to Ian, because he needed to talk about things and not keep them bottled up.

 

“In therapy, right, we learn why our paths in our minds are the way they are. Basically, why we are “fucked up”” Ian placed his two fingers up to gesture speak marks, his eyes not leaving Mickey's. “Anyway, whenever we actually come back into the real world its a problem. Its a fucking problem because we still walk down the same path and we still make the same dumb-ass choices, because the truth is, people don't change. _This_ disorder won't change.” Ian hadn't yet realised that he was crying, the tears burning at his skin as he spoke.

 

Mickey didn't know what to say, Ian wasn't seeing the point in therapy at all. But Mickey knew it was best for him, he could see that Ian was doing better ever since he got there, hell, he had even been giving Mickey tips that he learned from the sessions. See, there were times where Mickey would fire out bullshit and he can't stop speaking, a million words leaving his mouth in a matter of seconds, words that didn't mean jack shit. The truth was, he wanted to find some words that meant _everything._ Like; I need you. Like; I miss you, Like; I can see your world falling apart and I need you to know I will always be by your side.

 

“People do change, Ian. You fucking know that, _I_ know that.” Mickey could feel his heart constricting, knowing that Ian would understand that he was talking about himself here. Ian had watched Mickey grow, develop into someone he would have never guessed or dreamed to be, no, it was better. From worse, to worse, but to better.

 

Ian's eyes glassed over, tears forming all over again. “I don't want to talk about it to her, I don't want to speak about _that.”_ Before he could curl into himself any further, he let himself fall against Mickey's chest. Mickey grabbed the blunt smoke out of the taller boys fingers and chucked it into the sink filled with running water. Ian had fallen to his chest all he could do was wrap his arms around him, a unlikely gesture that he had only _really_ got used too. Sure, they did it when they slept, but Mickey had never been good at comfort.

 

“I know, God I fucking know.”

 

Later on that night, he had managed to calm Ian down, letting him lie in his lap. They were on the couch, Ian soundly asleep with his head on Mickey's legs. Absently, Mickey ran his hands through the red locks, massaging gently against the scalp. With his other hand he bit against his nails, filing them down more than they already was. A glance down to the sleeping redhead he couldn't help himself from flinching at the feeling it gave him.

 

After what happened just hours earlier, he would have never guessed Ian would look so peaceful in his sleep. The wrinkles were no longer seen against his forehead, the red patches from his tears had rubbed away, he looked..almost settled. The sun was probably forcing its way up, soon to see the light thread through the curtains. Mickey hadn't slept yet, his eyes only just gluing open, he wasn't sure if he _could_ sleep, just yet. Yet again, he looked down to the sleeping boy in his lap, taking it all in. Ian had shifted so he was facing Mickey's chest, one hand clutching to the fabric as the other lay beneath him.

 

If only Ian could always look like this, if only Ian could have a fucking _break_. Shit was being constantly thrown their way, always had been, and he just wished that they could just have one simple _fucking_ break from it all.


	33. my hips don't lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 33) Carry him to bed

“Fuck the shitty television, _fuck_ Leonardo Di Caprio and his shitty ass film. I'm going to bed.” Mickey jumped over the back of the couch, feeling like a professional hurdler or some shit not that Ian would have seen as his eyes were glued to the fucking Tv. The decision was made that a cold beer wouldn't be too bad before he chucked himself onto their bed, he walked over to the kitchen. 

 

Ian's head rolled with a smile, “Don't mind if I do, he's fucking hot.” A laugh came from the chair followed by a hum of appreciation that Mickey didn't account himself getting jealous of...obviously. Ian was a little shit and he knew how to rival Mickey up, it pissed him off how much Ian actually knew. 

 

Making it to the fridge in one piece, his chest feeling bare and ice-cold as he was stood just in his boxers, he opened it pulling out more beers than he actually needed. One sip and he would want more, he couldn't be bothered getting out of a warm bed when the whole case could be beside him. “Yeh, maybe the first time you watch it. That fucking movie has been on everyday this week I'm sick of it.” 

 

“Why, you gonna cry again Mick?” Ian turned his head, body shifting so he was leaning against the back of the couch. That smirk smug on his face with his eyebrows raised. _That fucking shit._

 

Mickey shook his head, already popping the cap off his beer and standing by the fridge like a awkward-penguin waiting for its mother. “Fuck off, I had dust it my eye.” Mickey had remembered when he had let himself slip, the scene where the old couple were holding eachother in their last breaths, who the fuck didn't cry when old people were dying?

 

“Mick, I cleaned the house head to toe. There ain't going to be fucking dust about.” Ian gestured for a beer but Mickey flipped him off, cradling the three he had taken in his chest. Ian shrugged and got up to get his own after he pulled on a jumper that had been lying over the chair, Probably Iggy's but they all shared clothes it didn't actually matter. “You cried like a baby, admit it.” 

 

Mickey scowled towards the man he called his lover-Boyfriend-partner, whatever the fuck lables were these days, and moved forwards to exit in a stomp and a huff. Instead on the way out his side and hip caught the edge of the counter the pain instantly waving through his body as if someone had kicked him in the nuts. Ian had had his head turned, eyes yet  _again_ watching the Tv. “Jesus fucking Christ, ah, fucking hell!” 

 

Ian darted around at his boyfriends cry, only to find Mickey leaning his body against the counter, breathing heavily like he was going through child birth or some shit like that. Ian stepped over, a giggle forming on his lips, even though Mickey had a collision his beers were still intact. Typical. “You've been shot before, I doubt this hurts any more than a bullet to the ass.”

 

“Fuck you, I would kick your ginger ass if I could fucking move.” Mickey groaned from his spot, knowing that he probably wouldn't move for an hour or so, maybe longer. The counter had betrayed him, stuck itself out so he would purposely walk into it like a bitch into a trap. Ian was laughing behind him, normally he would lick his lips and want to kiss that smile off but _now_ , after the fucking counter he wants to rip it off his face. The smaller boy used his moving leg to kick at the counter, screaming at it, “You fucker, you did this on purpose.” 

 

Ian clutched to his chest, laughing like a total idiot at his boyfriend who was groaning into the tile counter. “Are you seriously talking to the counter?” Mickey used his free hand that wasn't soothing his hip to flip him the bird, his finger coming out rather bendy. 

 

“Oh the betrayal, the hurt. We have to get rid of it, it's out to get you Mick.” Ian teased, unexpectedly grabbing underneath Mickey and picking him up into his arms, fucking _bridal style._ Mickey finally bucked up strength to try wriggle from his giant hold, that fucker had hands like a wrestler. 

 

“Get the fuck off of me.” Mickey kicked his legs, his hand still holding onto Ian's back though, Ian walked them to the bedroom effortlessly. Despite Mickey's squirming and kicking like a baby in a cot, he managed to get them by the bed in no time. “Seriously Firecrotch, let me fucking down.” 

 

“As you wish” Ian dropped Mickey harshly to the bed, the springs digging into his back as he made the fall. Ian was grinning like a teenager on crack, his hands finding his hips. “You happy now?” 

 

Mickey turned onto his front, his hip still throbbing but it didn't irritate him that much. “Fuck you.” he peeped his eyes over his arm, trying to forget that his mind was telling him to smile. 

 

“Well, if you're offering..” Ian winked, jokingly crawling over Mickey with a smile. Mickey opened his legs to give Ian easy access, smiling into the kiss with his hands already raking up Ian's back. The throb wasn't exactly pulsing in his _hip_ any more, that's for sure.


	34. If you don't stand for something you will fall for anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34) Stand up when someone speaks trash about him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the time of chapter 29--it seems confusing because its going back, but yeh.

It was time for a beer, or maybe two. Sack that, he needed a whole crate. Fiona had just hugged him outside of the Albi, her eyes still glazed over against her black rimmed eyes. They had just visited Ian in the hospital, after he had admitted himself Mickey knew he had to go see him. So much shit had gone down and Fiona had made it very clear that her and Mickey were the best, and most needed, people to go see Ian. Lip was out with his girlfriend, living the life in a high-top mansion. The kids were going to visit a separate day because Mickey and Fiona needed to talk to Ian, and by that, they needed to _really_ talk to him. Mickey had soothed some words to him, holding him in his arms trying to make it seem okay. The smile on his face didn't leave until Ian was whisked away into his ward until the next time he came down to visit. On the way back Fiona had been crying, trying to tell him that she had let them all down, _especially_ Ian. The thing was, Mickey could see how much she had done for them, how much they all relied on her. Just as he did on Ian for most of his life, and how Ian, right now, needed to rely on Mickey.

 

The bar was packed, as usual. Despite the lack of prostitutes on the top floor the alcohol seemed to be flowing more than ever. Some people would have thought Frank had loaded up his shitty made-up liquid, but it was summer after all – drinking from noon was acceptable. Mickey pushed the door open to the bar, nodding towards Veronica who had recently took the role of barman, he rolled his shoulders feeling way too dressed up to be at a bar. But he had gone to see Ian, after all he had to look smart. The things he did for Ian. Wouldn't want to change it like.

 

Sitting down he reached over the bar to grab a glass, shaking it towards Veronica who had been cleaning a couple of others. Routinely, she filled up his glass with neat Jack Daniels, watching him as he knocked it back without a wince. Old habits die hard she guessed. Mickey ran his finger over the rim of the glass, repeating the motion over and over, trying to think of ways to figure out why the world was so against him and Ian. How life just fucked them over with different things, jesus, sometimes he wished he lived in a bubble. Even then it would have been popped. Just as he gestured for another glass, he heard a unfamiliar voice that made him want to smash some skulls.

 

“You heard about that Gallagher kid?” It was the group of drunks in the corner. They were pretty valuable costumers, they would be there everyday taking advantage of the cheaper deals and whatever offers they could bag. Mickey perked his ears up at the conversation, one foot kicking against the foot of the bar.

 

Another voice, probably another street-living smack head, answered the first. “Which one, I swear Frank started a sperm bank or some shit. There's like a million of them.” Mickey could hear the laugh in his tone, protective mode slowly kicking in. He felt himself doing that even more, the Gallagher's were in a strange, awkwardly, kind of way; Family.

 

“The faggot, tall fucker with the red hair.” The drunk blindly described him, his tone of voice less than serious. Mickey's foot continuously hit against the bar, ignoring the glares from Veronica, he downed his drink grinding his teeth as he knew the conversation was going to lead somewhere. The other one must have nodded because the fucker was speaking again. “The fucker has not only become fucking _crazy._ Apparently he's been chucked in a loonie bin, good riddance I say.”

 

“Amen to that.Too many ass-bandits in this fucking neighbourhood.” Mickey heard the clink of the glasses, the hums of agreement from around the table.

 

Mickey clenched his fists against the wood, there was one wrong thing calling out the Gallagher's. But Ian, no fucker could do that _and_ get away from it. Veronica had caught his change in stance, not questioning, but raising an eyebrow to the fuckers at the corner of the room. Most people didn't question his actions – it was morally predictable when messing with something that belonged to Mickey, or any Milkovich for that matter. _Breathe, 1, 2-_

“Man, Terry should of killed that crazy fuckers ass while he had the chance, he might spread his aids monkey shit all over us.”

 

Mickey slammed his fist to the counter top, glasses clinging against eachother, bottles swaying against the vibrations. The bar went silent, not yet expecting what was coming next, but they could guess Mickey wasn't going to let this shit go. Mickey pushed himself from his stool, wiping under his nose as he turned to the still-laughing fuckers in the corner. Storming over he clicked his neck, cracking his knuckles.

 

Grabbing the main fuckers hair, he slammed the guys head off the top of the table. A couple of teeth spraying out beside his head from the force. One of the four guys launched themselves at Mickey, punching him lobsided against the cheek. Mickey knocked back, just a little bit, before spitting a speck of blood on the floor and wiping against his lip. The others quietened as he leant forward to the previous guys ear.

 

“I ever hear you speaking your shit about Ian Gallagher, or the Gallagher's in general, I will fucking skin you. He ain't fucking crazy, ya hear me” The guy squirmed under his grip, Mickey planted a nearby knife into the palm of his hand. “Do you like your fingers, huh? Do you like touching the girls upstairs, huh. Well if I ever fucking see you again I will make sure they will be gone. If I ever see you _even_ drinking in here you're going to be buried under my fucking porch.”

 

The guy whimpered from his position, the others hardly breathing around him. Mickey was glad for his reputation at this point; if he needed anything to scare fuckers off it was that. “Now get the fuck out of here!” roughly, pulling the fucker up he pushed him towards the floor with a swift kick to the side. They all scrambled out, rushing to the door as Mickey pulled out a smoke and lit it up.

 

Veronica shook her head, returning back to pouring glasses. Mickey shrugged placing himself back onto the chair he had previously been occupying. Hands still bloody, mouth still stinging, he knocked back the awaiting drink he most-possibly needed. Veronica pivoted on the spot, eyes glaring towards his bloody knuckles and slightly busted up lip. “You going to clean that shit up, I ain't picking up some drunks pecks.” She gestured teeth still laying against the wooden table.

 

Mickey frowned but his wrinkles softened as he saw Frank slumped at the end of the bar. “Hey, Frank. You want to make a good five bucks?” He slammed the money onto the bar top.

 

“You're being that generous?” Veronica asked from infront of him. As expected Frank came toppling over, nodding and mumbling some shit about his old liver and how he thanked the lord he had a new one so he could drink some more. Fucking Frank.

 

“Get cleaning that shit up.” Mickey tilted his head in the direction of the table, before scowling towards the slow moving Gallagher. “Get a move on, you want that five fucking bucks or what?”


	35. Ikea - The home of creating life forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35) Waterbeds are fun

“I just don't get why she can't get her own fucking bed?”Ian and Mickey had been put on the get-Svetlana-her-shit duty. All week they had been running around for her, getting stuff from the store to babysitting Yev while she went out playing date-night with Nika. The thing was Ian was _all_ for it, he was too fucking selfless to say no, Mickey never heard him actually saying no to someone who was asking him for a favor. That's why they ended up in Ikea looking for a bed. Not just any bed, one for the on-the-madden pregnant woman they had roaming the house with Russian slurs.

 

Ian was beside him, pushing him into nearby shelves taking advantage of his little height. Mickey would punch his arm, rather hard, wanting to make the taller boy wince and feel the pain he had caught from the corner of the shelf. Ian shook his head as Mickey spoke, eyes scanning the rows of beds. “We can't send her out all this way, her waters would fucking break or some shit.”

 

The smaller boy played with the small objects placed neatly on the aisles. “So, we could be fucking right now. These beds are pissing me off, they just remind me of what we should be _in.”_ They made it to the bed section, finally, after a load of bickering and swearing about how shit the service was in the shop. How they got lost in Ikea they would never know.

 

Ian sighed from where they were stood, hands pressing against mattresses a smirk forming on his face. “She's going to squeeze out a life form Mick, I don't think Ikea is the most life-creating place, do you?” Without thinking he was already lying on the bed's. One in particular that lifted up and back down again, he grabbed the remote and continuously elevated and deflated. Mickey rubbed at his eyes, wanting to form a smile but all that came out was a huff of a laugh.

 

“What the fuck are you doing Gallagher, we ain't sleeping _or_ fucking in here.” He stood at the end of the bed, eyes trailing over Ian who was enjoying himself with the piece of machinery. To be honest, Mickey didn't see the fascination with the things; a bed was bed, anywhere you can fuck in is good.

 

Ian slapped to the side of him, eyebrows wiggling in order to tempt Mickey to lie with him. “Testing out the bed, we might as well, after all we probably will fuck in it at some point.” Mickey gave in, eyes wandering the surrounding area before reluctantly lying beside him. The fact that they were in the middle of Ikea, people walking past with scowls – it wasn't really a place to snuggle up to your boyfriend and feel for a boner.

 

They laid down, very awkwardly, both staring towards the ceiling not yet speaking to each other. To be fair, neither of them knew what the fuck they were doing. Before Mickey could ask if they should just get the cheapest bed, the redhead sprung up and ran off in a different direction, hands flying up in the air like a child towards a ice cream van – well maybe, not Lip's van. “For fucks sakes, where the fuck you going now?”

 

Mothers and their children scowled towards his shout, some covering the kids ears as he called over to Ian. The taller boy was stood by a blue sheeted bed, one hand up in a gesture of a thumbs up. Fucking dork. “Hey Mick, c'mere.” Ian patted the bed, eyes gleaming from across the Ikea floor. “It's a fucking water bed, _water_ Mickey!”

 

Mickey walked over before any other people gave him glares as if they were going to murder him, he came over to Ian who was poking at the water bed. “We done here?” They hadn't even bought a bed, but the shop was pissing him off, he couldn't deal. Ian jolted around, hand still poking at the bed, he shook his head with a pout.

 

“Can we test it?” His voice was innocent, eyes like a puppy dog. Mickey gave in. Like usual.

 

“Fucking fine, I don't see what's so special.” He didn't really care, it was only a bed. Surely, a bed of water was fucking dangerously, stupid anyway.

 

Ian walked over onto the bed, rolling around with a huge giggle on his face. As soon as his body hit the bed he was wobbling all over the place. Mickey scoffed, eyes rolling as he rejected the idea of joining but Ian was giving him the fucking eyes again. “It's water Mick, its so _cool.”_

 

Mickey rolled onto it, feeling the mattress sway against his body weight. It was like being on a boat, a stupid bed boat. “You're a bigger kid then Yev, Jesus.” Ian was gleaming, laughing loud so the whole shop was hearing him. Mickey went with the wave of Ian's tosses and turns, trying not to blush up with the sight of Ian being a big kid.

 

“Imagine fucking on this, _damn.”_ Ian whispered up close to Mickey, a chuckle bubbling against his lips. The bed shook once more, Ian's tall heavy movements nearly knocking the smaller boy clean off the bed. “Can we buy it?”

 

Mickey held to the side, fuck, he was going to fall off soon. “No we fucking ain't.” before he could go further, he changed it back to fucking, unintentionally. “If we fucked on here I'm sure this thing would pop, especially with your heavy ass.” Ian turned around slapping Mickey at the thigh. They were both giggling like little twats, until-

 

“Shit.” Ian muttered from his side, potentially trying to move himself off of the bed. Mickey watched with confusion, eyes raking over the redhead who looked like he was trying to escape. Then his caught caught to what Ian had been lying buy, there was a darker patch against the sheets, growing bigger and bigger.

 

“Shit, you fucking idiot.” Mickey laughed, scrambling to follow Ian getting off the bed. The sheet was getting more darker the more water started to come out of the whole Ian had pierced through. They watched from the bottom of the bed, noticing the way the mattress slowly deflated and the floor become more like a huge puddle. “Fucking move, we're out of here.” He pushed at the stuck Gallagher, urging him away from the possible crime they had committed.

 

Running out, they looked back to see some staff looking pissed, annoyed, wanting to murder Mickey and Ian in a second. The two legged it out, through the carpark and back to the car Mickey had nicked from Iggy's new job at the garage. They were laughing, breaths hardly available at that point. Mickey pulled out of the lines as soon as his and Ian's doors were closed.

 

It looked like they weren't getting a bed from Ikea. Say goodbye to balls.


	36. speak fucking English

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36) Learning to say sweet stuff in a different language and speaking to them in it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incase you don't know what which Russian bit meant - 
> 
> Твой папа - это красивый к скорый день за работой старик, не он -- Your daddy is a beautiful, grumpy old man, isn't he?
> 
> “Нет, он идиота - No, he's an idiot
> 
> Он меня идиотом” - He's my idiot
> 
> Вы такая прелестная - You're so cute
> 
> Вчера вечер кран, г-н Председатель - Suck my cock, good sir
> 
> В , прочный помощника по обустройству цифрового дома.” - Bring it on, tough guy

Dreams were good, they were like a mystical land that you could eat as much as you wanted, fuck as much as you want, be _you_ as much as you want; and no fucker would spoil that. Unless you were a Russian whore who liked to scream at the early hours of the morning. Mickey was spending his few hours of sleep thinking about fucking Ian, again, but it didn't feel so hot when Russian shouts interrupted and created a background noise. Groaning, he didn't yet open his eyes, he turned his head to the side, he could _feel_ the door being open. Why the fuck was it open. “Shut the fuck up, if you want to scream, scream in fucking English!” 

 

In return, he heard a reply of Russian grumbles and a couple of high pitched laughs. As soon as the boom of laughter eloped he immediately knew it was Ian. That fucker had the loudest laugh any man needed, especially at – eight O'clock in the  _fucking morning._ As the light spread under his eyelids, he tried to inherit all the light he could. It burned but it took seconds for him to adjust. The bed was cold next to him, a small dip from where Ian had been lying. The cover was wrapped, annoyingly, around his legs, chest bare against the scrunched sheets. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of bed, the quilt still around him as he padded towards the laughter that came from the kitchen.

 

As he entered the instant, too loud, barrel of noise he glanced twice at what he saw. Sat in the middle of the living room, in a circle, was Ian, Svetlana and Nika. Yev was crawling around infront of them all, playing with some old blocks they had managed to take from Liam's old stuff they found in the basement back at the Gallagher's. They were all laughing, heads knocking back as Ian cracked yet another joke. “What the fuck?” Mickey blurted from his spot, deciding he was way too old for this early-morning shit they had recently going on. 

 

Svetlana cracked her neck, looking towards the grumpy Milkovich appearing from his room. Ian and Nika were still talking, he wasn't sure what they were saying. “Look who wanted to show his face.” The russian shot towards him, smile breaching on her lips. Ian must of caught out and gleamed as he captured Mickey with his lit up eyes – something Mickey craved for, but not this fucking early, maybe when his brain was actually functioning. 

 

“Mickey!” Ian laughed from where he was sat crossed legged against the carpet. He pulled Yev to his lap, bouncing him happily with a ridiculous face. “Come join us, 'lana was just telling us about some fucker who asked for ice with his blowjob, can you believe that?” After that he mumbled something else, Mickey didn't quite catch it but he knew it wasn't English. 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes, rejecting the offer of playing house in the front room with a bunch of idiots. “Yeh, changed my fucking life. Where's the milk?” He pulled open the fridge door, revealing an empty bottle of milk and a mouldy piece of bread. Obviously he wasn't having any breakfast today. Yet again, he was ignored, only hearing Russian slurs from the group formed in the middle of the floor. Then he noticed that it wasn't exactly womanly, it was a fucking deep, familiar, un-Svetlana tone that instantly was drawn to Ian's mouth. “Are you speaking fucking Russian?” 

 

Ian's eyes darted across the room, Nika's and Svetlana's following until the redhead moved his gaze back to Yev, who was weirdly, always content on Ian's lap. Mickey watched as Ian started talking - “Твой папа - это красивый к скорый день за работой старик, не он?” He was speaking to the kid, in fucking  _Russian._ Svetlana and Nika burst into a fit of giggles, 'lana holding onto her bump as she nearly rolled onto the carpet. Ian's grin was unmissable, his hands gripping at the babies side as he repeated the phrase over and over. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey shouted from his spot, hand roughly rubbing against his face as he no longer wanted to hear Ian say the exact phrase he kept repeating. He watched as the three cuddled around Yev, all tickling against his baby form. Mickey groaned from his spot, searching through cupboard after cupboard for any sign of food. Anything that would just blank out that stupid Russian slurring. 

 

“Нет, он идиота” Svetlana spoke, purposely loud, so Mickey could hear her. Nika chuckled, causing yet, again, another tidal wave of giggles and snorts. Ian looked towards Mickey, _that_ look in his eyes telling him he was totally playing him. “Он меня идиотом” He heard Ian reply, the laughter just a distant background noise now, it was happening that much. Mickey wanted to drown himself in the dirty dish water. 

 

Sighing heavily, regretting even going out of bed for this shit, he pulled his quilt further around himself. “Fucking dicks.” He hated the fact that he couldn't understand them. He hated the fucking fact that Ian was willing to take lessons from Svetlana and then use the Russian language as a weapon to talk shit about Mickey, but not too him. Ian must of recognised, he placed Yev down with a kiss to the head and walked over to the smaller boy, wrapping his arm loosly around the over-grown blanket that covered Mickey. “What do you want Firecrotch?” 

 

“Вы такая прелестная” Ian smirked, tilting his head to say as if -I'm- fucking-great-and-you-know-it. It wasn't that true, Ian was fucking annoying more than anything. Mickey wanted to jam their mouths with soap, telling them that they couldn't talk shit about him, _just_ because they happened to know a different language. From what it looked and sounded like Ian was getting better at it. 

 

Mickey jolted around, rubbing one hand against his skull. “I don't know what the fuck your saying.”He persisted to rid himself of the incoming laughter back in the living room, Even Yev began to crack his smile. They all fucking hated him, they wanted him to suffer through the torture of not speaking in English and using the Russian language as a route to playing, messing, and even annoying his mind. 

 

“That's the point.” Ian finally spoke in his usual accent, the smile remained on his lips like the smug fuck he was. His big, hands looped around Mickey's waist, his mouth ever-so closely to his ear. The brunette instinctively tensed, releasing himself when he remembered he didn't have to be scared anymore. Terry was banged up and Ian was _there,_ really there. Mickey scrambled his way out of the hold, moving closer to the bedroom where his destiny was awaiting him. Like a lost puppy, Ian followed, secretly trying to salute the two Russians and the baby, but Mickey caught him. ]

 

“Seriously?” He eyed up the whole situation. He didn't like it. “You speak that shit again you ain't sleeping in the same bed as me. I want to sleep not meet fucking Putin. Jesus.” He located himself to their bedroom, trying to not glance at Ian's tugged up lips, but he couldn't resist. All his walls were down, he had no push – just Ian and his fucking smile, 

 

Ian kept his hands on Mickey's hip, walking in line with him as they moved to the other room. As they reached the end of the bed, Mickey released his blanket, Ian licked his lips as the older boy stood between his legs, both hands resting on his knee's, lightly rubbing at the fabric of his jeans. Ian knew the last game, now this would be hilarious. Bringing his lips, close and light, against Mickey's ear he felt the smaller boy shiver. He did it anyway. “Вчера вечер кран, г-н Председатель” 

 

Mickey bit his lip, holding back his laughter. Ian always knew how to play him. Fucker. Grabbing the nearest pillow he launched it at Ian's head, using it as a gun-point replacement. “I swear to fuck Ian, I will knock the teeth out of your head." Ian began to laugh again, matching the howling coming from the other room. Shit, fucking thin walls, they don't do any good to _anybody._

 

Ian pursed his lips, biting down at the corner. Mickey was now straddling Ian, legs either side of his hips. Ian yet again, drew them closer, his lips were warm against his ear. “В , прочный помощника по обустройству цифрового дома.” 

Mickey wished Svetlana hadn't even opened her mouth, because now the whole house was a busybody of Russian slurs and laughter. And still, when Ian was using that idiotic accent, he still fucking turned him on.


	37. Well, everybody has to sometimes break the rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 37) Break the rules your parent told you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiona will always be their parent I don't care what people say ah,

Ian remembered, vaguely, the night in the back of the van with Fiona and Lip. They were too young to understand what was going on, they would have guessed it was a vacation or some shit like that. Frank was out of his head, always going out and getting plastered where it came easy. Monica was never around, always on manic phase and leaving them to their own devices. Ian was only little but he could still remember what Fiona had said to him in the back of the van. “One day Ian, you will get out of here and you will see the world. You might even get to be a hero, fighting all the bad guys” Because seriously, Ian had created a obsession with fighting off the bad guys at a young age.

 

That was the first time Fiona had told him something that he had managed to break. Like rules – but they never had rules except that Family always came first, no matter what. He hadn't left southside he hadn't become that hero he had always craved to be. Still, it didn't bother him that much because he had managed to break almost every rule Fiona had given him, except the family one. No one fucked with his family, he got that. There were the shitty rules like; “Wash you shit when you've used it”, “Only five minutes in the bathroom, tops.”, but they weren't as big of deal, they were instinctive when it came to their household.

 

The rules he had broke with a crow bar at one hundred miles per hour, were more than that. Like, “Don't do drugs, you know what that shit does to Frank.” It didn't take long to break that one, especially when your brother was out selling that shit in the back of an ice cream van. Or the fact that they always had a stash in the drawer, hiding it upstairs when he and Lip would have a couple of joints at night. It wasn't like he should keep it anyway, Fiona had her fair share of drugs, it was pretty hypocritical. But Ian didn't care, Fiona was always under stress and he knew how drugs could stabilize that. The funny thing was, he couldn't just stop taking drugs or keep the rule, because he took pills everyday. Not to have a high, or recover his fix, to keep him stable – to keep him sane.

 

“Never let anyone use you. If they do, they've got me to answer to.” Well,that rule was fucked. He had been fucking guys for most of his teenage years, not because he had a “thing” for them, but because they _needed_ it. It wasn't like Kash or Ned were anything special, they used him to fuck while their wives were at home crying at lousy TV, or in Kash's case, running her own shop. They used him like they would a tube of toothpaste. They used him till he had a little bit left, that little bit of dignity, and then dumped him straight away once a new one came along. Ned more than Kash. Kash was just a knob who wanted him – whenever, wherever he could just for the sake of getting his own fix. Then Ian had to get the go-go dancer occupation, something that required getting used for a living, _and_ getting paid for it. Was it possible to glue broken rules back together? Because Ian had found someone who was capable of doing that, someone who urged and pushed him to leave that job, someone who didn't fucking use him like the rest. 

 

Then there was that undying rule, the one that Fiona had experience with more than once. “You can't be fixed by the person who broke you.” Ian had lived by it for a while, after time and time again of being heartbroken over Mickey. After always feeling like he was worthless each time Mickey had pushed him away, told him he was nothing more than a warm mouth. That rule was very applicable then. Fiona would say it every time someone would break her heart; especially with JimmySteve. But now, she was with Gus. The only guy she hadn't been broken by, yet, or maybe never. Ian however, he knew he had gone back to Mickey time and time again, but he couldn't help it. Mickey had broken his heart, for sure, and it killed him. It didn't stop him from believing that Mickey was the only one that could fix him. 

 

Then Ian realised that he couldn't be fixed, because no one can be fixed. There would always be cracks in the pavement, little problems that good effect everything, agruments that might shatter everything. So he didn't need to care about that shitty rule, because Mickey hadn't only broken him, he had picked up back up piece by piece, replacing him in a better, more lighter way than he could ever imagine. For the first time Ian could say that the rule was bullshit, because Mickey might not have fixed him completely, no one could fix his shitty disorder that was there for life, but he had filled in the cracks with himself, letting Ian know that he would always be  _there._ Without having to say. 

 

(sorry Fiona but-) Fuck the stupid rules, they were meant to be broken anyway.


	38. the fire within your heart can beat the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 38) Brush his hair out of his face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this really cute to write lil

It was around 1am when Ian finally got home, his night had been hectic; kicking out drunks, creeps, pushy fuckers out of the club, something he did almost every night. Tonight the bar had been busier than usual, Friday's were always the worst, he had been running around like a headless chicken, verifying orders and trying to get drinks right. It was still his first week back on the bar, he had quick being on the floor after Mickey nearly killed a guy for going to far, Ian didn't want Mickey back into Juvie so he begged and pleaded to be placed elsewhere. There were still creeps, they still tried shit out when Ian was pouring them drinks, but they couldn't grope or drug him from behind the counter. Mickey hadn't come over this night, he said he needed sleep, which Ian felt instantly guilty for.

 

Quietly, he made his way around the Milkovich house. Trying not to be too loud because he wasn't awake enough to deal with a screaming Russian and a over-hyperactive baby, never mind his grump-ass boyfriend who wouldn't doubt killing a guy for interrupting his sleeping pattern. Dumping his jacket, after taking out his newly paid for smokes, he opened the door to his and Mickey's bedroom gently. Stepping in he consciously walked over the creaky floorboard, that he had worked out after he would wake the whole house every fucking night. Now that floorboards ass was his, he worked that fucker out. Not so delicately, he stripped off his clothes, leaving him in just his boxers.

 

Mickey was sprawled against the sheets, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed. One of his legs was kicked out from under the blanket that was struggling to keep its hold around the brunette. Mickey's head was to the side, lying against Ian's pillow. There was just enough space for Ian to slip in and cling onto his warmth. The problem was trying not to wake Mickey up. There was getting into bed quietly and there was getting into bed quietly next to Mickey. The smaller boy was a very light sleeper, instant reflexes that could kill a guy just with one sleepy punch, whatever Ian did he might have to hold his breath doing so. One light sigh could wake Mickey up – Then Ian would have to walk around with a black eye or some shit.

 

As gently as possible, he slipped into the bed, making sure that his limbs didn't jolt or cause to harsh of contact against the springs. Successfully, he laid on his side eyes trailing over his boyfriends muscular physique, the way his back contracted and loosened each time he inhaled through his nose. Once Ian got up close, his breath mixing with Mickey's, he nearly giggled at the messy bed-hair that was ruffled against Mickey's head. The black strands were attacking the pillow, as the smaller boys head was slowly making its way underneath it, a couple were scattered across his forehead. One piece in particular caught Ian's gaze, it had a slight curl to it at the end of the hair strand. It curled around the tip landing against Mickey's nose. Ian liked the fact Mickey was growing his hair out, even if it meant Mickey spending most of his mornings trying to do something with it and constantly moaning that one sly piece would make its mission to annoy the fuck out of him.

 

The guilt rushed through him as he noticed that this was probably the first time Mickey had a proper sleep. Throughout the last couple of weeks he only had a few hours a night, always waking up early to make sure Ian had his dose of pills. Never did he ever get a rest. Ian was always thankful for Mickey, he always said how much he appreciated it, but the smaller boy would just shove him off as if it was his instinctive job that he was born to do. Ian took a quick look over of the man laid next to him; the way his eyes fluttered with sleep, already conforming little bits in the corner. The way his wrinkles smoothed out across his forehead, something that usually wasn't visible because he was always running around, the most stressed person in the house, besides Svetlana but he was even starting to take over her now.

 

“I'm sorry.” Ian whispered, almost as if he never said it. Hesitantly, incase he woke his significant other, he softly moved the strand of hair from Mickey's eyes, tucking it behind the smaller boys ear. Mickey only shifted, scrunching his nose from the light movement. All Ian could do was shift closer, pulling their warmth together. One arm curved around Mickey's waist, the other still playing with the hair that was sprayed against the pillow.


	39. You feel like thunder in the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 39) tell each other their fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually used to be scared of Supernatural when my mum and dad used to watch it all the time. Now I love it way to much ahahaha, however, I do not share the same fear of thunder - it is literally my favourite thing

A slash of thunder split outside of the house, the crackling growing loader each time it went off. Mickey had just set Yev down to sleep when it all started, the kid was out like a rocket but Mickey couldn't sleep, not when he flinched every-time he heard it outside. The front room was in complete darkness, Svetlana had managed to blow all the lights in the house from leaking water all over the kettles plug socket. Ian had promised to fix it when he got home, which to Mickey's luck was very soon. The ex-con was cuddled up against the sofa, a blanket cocooned around him forming him into the shape of a slug. The Tv was higher than usual, he hoped it would drown out the noise of the thunder but it didn't exactly work.

 

He nearly jumped from his sitting position when the door cracked open, at the exact same time the thunder cracked in the sky. By the sigh that came from the front door he instantly knew it was Ian; the younger boy had been working longer hours now the Rub N' Tug was only just getting back onto its feet. Mickey felt guilty but Ian being Ian would never take no for an answer. Mickey hid himself further into this quilt cocoon, trying to grasp a sense of sercurity now the thunder was getting worse.

 

The redhead walked through, a plastic bag in his hands. He stopped in his tracks when he saw his boyfriend wrapped up, shivering on the couch, in the darkness. “You alright Mick?”

 

“Yeh, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be.” Mickey snapped back defensively. If anything, Ian could not know about this. Anything but this.

 

Ian shrugged his soaking wet coat off, placing it on the radiator against the wall. He pulled out some food he had in the plastic bag, plating it up with a cautious eye. “I don't know, you look kinda strange. Your cocoon got a reason or you just cold?” Mickey could swear he heard a laugh somewhere in there.

 

Mickey scowled to the back of Ian's head, burrowing himself inside his blanket fort more. “Can a man not wrap himself up in his own blanket, is that a fucking crime?” He didn't realise he snapped until a shot of thunder cracked outside, causing him to yelp and cower into his covered hands. Shit.

 

Ian must have noticed his erratic behaviour because he was swarming himself onto the couch in no time. Mickey hid away, not looking towards the younger boy in case he cracked. “Right, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Ian tried to yank the cover off him, just to be kicked in the shin and grunted at in return.

 

Peeping his head from under the blanket, sneaking a quick glance to the window, he allowed himself to finally look at his, overly-concerned boyfriend. “Shut the fuck up okay, just- just -” As he spoke a streak of lightening shot through the window, elevating the room into light, following it came a bang of thunder, causing him to scramble into a little ball underneath his blanket. He didn't realise this until he finally took a breath and saw he wasn't facing Ian anymore.

 

Ian's mind clicked onto what was going on, one second Mickey was shivering against the couch, blowing his head off, now he was curled up in a ball. Shit, he had admit it was fucking cute. Mickey Milkovich was scared of something – something cute. “Mick?” he put his hand onto the brunettes calf, “Oi, Mick. It's fine, its gone.”

 

“Fuck off.” Mickey mumbled as he freed himself from his ball, he let the blanket slide a little, still anxious about the blast of thunder that could still come through. He let Ian pull him closer, still not letting go of his firm clutch against his safety blanket. Ian rubbed circles into the small of his back, leaning his head ontop of the smaller boys as she let him lie his head against his chest.

 

“Mickey, are you- are you scared of Thunder?” Ian chose his words wisely, it could be a split second that Mickey would snap and hide himself in their bedroom. It was clear that Mickey didn't like it, he was still shaking against Ian, shifting himself awkwardly to distract himself.

 

The smaller boy paused for a while, fingers playing with the strings of Ian's sweats. “No, it just, fuck. It just reminds me of Terry and all that shit, y'know.” Ian let Mickey talk, not interrupting for the first time. “Me and Mandy used to push the chest of drawers behind the door, a gun under the pillow. He used to bang on the door, screaming for us to get out so he could give us a good hiding.” His lip quivered before he hit the next part, thankful for Ian's arms at that moment.

 

“There was night where I was so fucking stupid, I left Mandy alone in the house. I went out to get some weed or some shit and I came back and- and, fuck.” Wiping underneath his eyes, he hardened he face that was bundled against Ian's shirt. “He fucked her up, said it was for the both of us. I let her down, I always fucking let her down.” He bit back the tears, he wasn't going to fucking cry, he was better than that.

 

Ian shuffled them around, lifting Mickey's chin up with the tip of his finger. “Don't ever say that shit, you never let her down. You always did your best for her, she knows that I know that. Terry was a psychotic prick or a father, he didn't deserve you.” He drew Mickey closer, tangling his leg with his. “Don't you dare blame it on yourself, alright or I'm going to eat all the poptarts and never buy them again. _Ever._ “

 

“You eat them all anyway, you dick.” Mickey laughed against his chest, being more thankful then ever that he had Ian there to tell him that. The smile on his face dimmed as another shock of thunder vibrated through the house. This time Ian was there to rub the back of his head with his hand, holding a firm grip on him. Jesus, they never been so gay.

 

Ian kissed the top of his head before chuckling to himself, “You wanna know what shits me up, more than those creepy china dolls Svetlana bought that one time?”

 

Mickey lifted his head up to look towards him, a questioning look against his features. “Svetlana in the morning?” He suggested, smirk arising on his lips because he knew how good of friends the two were. They literally backed eachother up like siblings, even if they had a little break when Ian went and stole Yev – but that's not the point. The point was that if he spoke shit infront of Svetlana about Ian she would have his balls, if he did infront of Ian he would get a slap against the head.

 

Ian must be going easy on him because all he heard was a huffed out laugh. “No, idiot. That programme with the two brothers and they fight evil shit and then do sappy speeches to eachother about how they are sorry and shit.”

 

Mickey bristled, scrunching his eyebrows to work out what Ian was talking about. Then it clicked. Ian was such a dork. “You're scared of Supernatural, are you fucking serious?” Mickey bubbled up with laughter, the thunder barely there anymore. Ian's chest vibrated against Mickey's face, causing his stomach to stir with that unfamiliar feeling that he always felt.

 

“Don't fucking laugh, I'm serious some of the episodes keep me up at night.” Ian confessed, watching as Mickey slyly turned over the channel, scanning over to find – oh wait, guess what was on. “This just happens to be on, does it Mick?” Ian pushed himself into the warmth that had been surrounding them. Finally Mickey allowed him into his little fort he had created around himself, permitting himself from letting Ian put his toes up because his toes were _always_ fucking cold.

 

The smaller boy pointed to Dean on the screen, smirk on his lips. “You sure you're scared? I bet you want to bone him, that's what.” He looked up to Ian, innocent smile plastered across his face, like he didn't do anything at all.

 

“Nah.” Ian shook his head, pulling the blanket around Mickey's head making him look like a baby boritio, Ian was giggling his ass off, Mickey wasn't so impressed which made it even funnier. They took a moment to stare at eachother, Mickey's eyes falling to the other mans lips. The same lips that turned up with a quirk, cheekily before they opened. “I like my men with jet-black hair, FUCK-U-UP tattoo's, a very cranky attitude, an ass to die for, not forgetting the cutest grumpy face _ever.”_

 

That got Mickey smiling, only for a split second before the thunder cracked and a scream echoed out of the Tv. they both ended up under the blanket, clinging on for dear life. arms all over the place, heads merged into awkward positions, legs still tangled. They still managed to laugh about it. Okay, so maybe they were both dorks.


	40. Bridge Over Troubled Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40) Look them in the eye and say “I really appreciate you—just for being you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took from the stills of 5x08 . I know this is probably not how its going to go... but I girl can fucking dream and this is how I wish it to played out - even though, I bet the show does it in a way it breaks my heart because they are adorable little babies who need hugs whenever theres a place for it.. so yeh.B

Ian stared at the poster-covered wall, the pictures of suited up men in their cameo uniform staring back into his face. It's where it all went wrong, he guessed. Maybe he went too fast, took life too fast, afterall he only went to ignore the shit that was already happening to him. There were things he could blame for the stupid illness; Drugs, fucking married men, running off to the army, even Mickey. But none of that was its trigger. It was always there, it would never leave. The disorder was in his bones from day one he just didn't see the signs, no-one did. Today he had gotten out of the ward and it was already the same old southside he nearly lost. It had been eventful; Carl getting caught for some drug dealing he had been caught up in, he didn't miss it for a second.

 

The absence was noticeable, it was like a gap in his system. Those 72 hours were like hell, walls closing in on him, but it seemed worth it. Didn't it? Some part of him went against that idea because when he left the white double doors he wasn't faced with his grinning boyfriend, he didn't see Mickey in his usual grump-attire. It felt like the world had shadowed over him, the feeling he felt before he went in was still in the back of his mind. The thought of Mickey not wanting him any more struck him in the gut, he guessed he understood. No one wanted a boyfriend who had constant mood-swings and each day was a question of whether he was in his highs or lows. He understood.

 

The door behind him creaked, he guessed it was Debbie, she had been coming in non-stop. “Debs, I said I'm fine. Just let me sleep-

 

“Gallagher.” The voice, he knew, grumbled through the tension already built high in the air. Ian gulped before swooping his head around, he could feel the tears brimming in his eyes but he didn't have the strength, or effort, to wipe it away. Mickey would be gone soon.

 

“Mickey? What are you doing here?” Ian nearly choked, still not fully turning his body the full way because the wall was a comforting place when he felt _alone._ It didn't stop him from taking in all of Mickey's features, that he tried to memorise, he had a cut against his cheek, it looked painful more than anything, patches of dried blood still against it. Mickey still hadn't answered, a cold but broken look on his face. “What happened to your face?” 

 

Mickey eyed his cautiously, as if he was trailing every single thing about Ian. It was strange how someone so tall, so glowing, could look so small. “It doesn't matter, its just fucking scratch.” He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that Ian was waiting for him to answer the other question. Instead he walked over to the bed, stripping from his jacket and over to the small, single bed. “Shit, I know I let you down. It's just, I couldn't -” It felt like he had been hit by a truck into the stomach, Ian was looking at him with those eyes; the ones that were waiting for him to open up and yet he never got to grips with doing that. 

 

Ian's eyes began to water again, he blinked quick to rid of them. “I thought you didn't want to be with me any more.” It was simple, he got it if that's what Mickey wanted. Anyone would get it. 

 

Kicking off his shoes, he took the space that Ian offered him in the small bed. It was the first time they actually tried getting into the small space, somehow it fit, somehow it worked. “Now, why the fuck would you think that?” He rested his head on the same pillow Ian had been on, their foreheads basically touching. 

 

“It's pretty predictable. I stole your kid, left him on his fucking own in the car. I mean, anything could of happened? I cheated on you – did a porno behind you back, all that shit I did to you. I would understand if you didn't want me, I wouldn't either.” Ian listed off, his arm flinching as Mickey's hand curled around his elbow, thumb brushing against the skin. 

 

Mickey scrunched his eyebrows, yes – he was still angry about everything that happened, but he was mostly frightened and he had never felt his heart pound so much against his chest. “First off; stop with all the lists of shit you've done, I'm pretty sure I've done some crazy shit in my lifetime too. Secondly, do you think I would go through  _all_ the shit we've been through just to back out now you've got some shitty disorder?” Ian stayed quiet, lips formed into a straight line. “Exactly, now stop trying to get rid of me, I ain't budging an inch.” 

 

“So you do want to be with me?” Ian asked quietly, their eyes locking as they both looked to eachother. 

 

“Are you going to make me say it?” Mickey made a noise in his throat, he should of known Ian would get him to say the usual corny shit. 

 

Ian nodded with a shy smile, pulling the blanket he had wrapped around himself up to his chin. Mickey paused, just taking in what was his boyfriend; the innocent, mentally battered, most-beautiful boy in the world, and he was his. “Fuck you asswipe- Yes, I want you. You got a problem with that?” 

 

“No. Course not.” The redhead giggled into the pillow, causing a weird, usual, stir in Mickey's stomach. Some times it made him want to vomit it was that strong. Guess the saying “love sick” kinda made sense, in a way. 

 

They let the silence flow around them for a while, just their content breathing surrounding them. Ian was the first to cut the silence, as usual but Mickey was used to it now – sometimes he would shut up because he knew at what points Ian would want to talk. “So you don't want me to change, you don't want this disorder to magically disappear and everything be better?” 

 

Ian was so fucking dumb at times. “What kind of ballsy-ass question is that? Of course I'd wish you didn't have this shitty disorder, but that doesn't mean I don't want you.” They had scooted closer through the talk, the bed was a wizards work – they would of never guessed the both of them would fit onto it, and not one of them fall off. 

 

The taller boys arm slid around Mickey's waist, still unsure about everything but it felt right. As he weakly smiled, wiped his head against the pillow shyly, he felt the feeling of the world placing back together when Mickey's hand sent that spark again. 

 

“I don't want you to change either, I appreciate you – just for being you.” Mickey finally felt himself open the gates to pure corniness, but it wasn't like anyone was there to hear it. Just them. It was nice being just them, for that tiny little moment. Throughout the day he had been thinking out it, raking his brain around the idea. “Now stop making me into some fucking rom-com character and cuddle me. I wouldn't mind part of that blanket either, firecrotch.” 

 

Ian bit into his lip, not sure how this all could end but he had a good feeling about it. The closed walls he felt he had used to push the other man away, they crashed all in one, some-how opening to let the warmth pass through. Mickey hadn't been there when he had gotten out, at the time he felt it was the worst thing that could of happened, but atleast he was there now. There to fucking cuddle him, because in all sense that was what he needed.


	41. I could run away- but I'd rather stay in the warmth of your smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 41) feel their pain, as they would yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internal thoughts of Mickey - after the nights events
> 
> SPOILERS FROM 5X06 WHICH FUCKING KILLED ME OKAY?? MICKEY SAID I LOVE YOU AND I CANT FUCKING STOP CRYIGN

The Gallagher house was like a tornado of moving bodies, loud obnoxious voices, Liam crying from his high chair because all he seemed to do was miss his big brother and his warm crept arms. Mickey missed those too. Fiona had been sat staring at the wall for almost an hour, her fingernails next to none as she held her worried gaze. Lip had tried to talk to her, but it was no use, it looked as if she was in her own world, trying to work everything out on her own, like always. Debbie and Carl were bickering, but no so loudly. Ian's absence was clear, like they were all missing apart of themselves now he was locked up in the ward. Mickey had been sat in his same spot since they had let Ian go in there, since he let everything out and nearly burst out of his seams.

 

The last couple of days had been hell, more than hell, and living with Terry Milkovich wasn't the high of heavens, but _this_ felt worse. Mickey blamed himself, he did from the start, he hadn't done enough to protect Ian from his own demons. The only thing he would promise to do – and he failed. He failed Ian. All those voicemail's he had left, one after another, all turning softer and weaker as he went on. The first were loud, crudely violent and full of Mickey's outbursts that were typically Terry inspired. But he knew it then. He was worried. All in one day he had lost his son and his boyfriend. They were off to the high heavens, basking in an adventure that wasn't purely safe, all because Mickey had dropped the crazy-bomb on Ian, and he took a run for it.

 

Never had he been so fucking worried. All night he felt like he was suffocating in a ball of worry, his consciousness washing away like his cases of beer he had next to him on the couch. That's when he felt the words fall from his mouth, this time he couldn't hold it in. He knew that now. “ _I'm worried about you.”_ Because shit, he had no idea what Ian was capable of now.

 

_I love-you._

 

Maybe yes he said it because he knew Ian would react to it, he knew Ian would fall because he was a sucker for all the romantic shit. Mickey didn't do it for that reason, he knew it would work but this was more. He hadn't realised what he felt for Ian, he could feel it in his bones – that weird sensation that drove him everyday, but he didn't know what it was. Obviously, Ian had heard it - he hadn't answered his phone at all that day - Mickey felt even more cautious, because he knew if Ian hadnt heard it it would of made him realise how much Mickey was in this with him, because he knew the redhead would try walk away and say Mickey deserved better than the shit he had caused. It was his fatigue. It surprised him too, he always thought Ian would be the first on to say it. But, afterall, Mickey was the one who always needed to hear it, he needed that sort of reassurance. Now, it was Ian. Ian needed to hear it. Secretly, he always did, Mickey just didn't notice.

 

The hospital was the worst. Still, it shadowed his mind like a blanket full of nightmares. Thank fuck they let Ian go at the station, even if they could help him too. Mickey felt better, safer, that Ian was going to help that he actually needed – because it was clear now he needed it, no exceptions, no falling for the protests. He was doing this for Ian.

 

Watching the strongest person he had ever know, the only person who looked as if they could take on anything, signing that paper with a shake to his wrist – it wasn't heartbreaking, it was an inferno of fear, guilt, love that not yet he could express with words but with only a silent, not-yet-heard, I love you. This time he used his actions, because Ian always knew what they meant.

 

Ian looked at him differently, as if for the first time he was scared. After kissing Yev goodbye, stroking the boys face with that sorrow that told them all he was ashamed of what he had done, he turned to Mickey. He didn't move at first, he seemed stuck in his place, his hands with their usual habit of clenching and opening, something Mickey remembered revealed Ian feeling nervous. Ian just looked at him, words balancing on his lips but not moving, his eyes were glazed over and he stepped aside. It felt like he had lost Ian, again. That the broken boy before him had given him a chance of a way out, that he knew Mickey deserved better. Mickey couldn't just let him walk out, not again. They both had done way too much of that.

 

He had pulled him into a hug, his arms clutching around Ian because he had missed that feeling too much. All his emotions cracked and he felt his heart pound against the rapid beat of Ian's. Hand roaming through his red hair, one gripping to the other mans hoody – Mickey couldn't breathe, he never could around Ian.

 

Ian was sick, he had been for a long time. Mickey hadn't realised because he was so caught up in believing that everything could be okay, for once, but life was always bitch. He had kissed at Ian's shoulder, begging to go in with them, he would punched a bitch if he could, but he was too weak – to broken, to see the only person that anchored him down fall at the brink of the edge. This time, Mickey knew he had to swap that roles, no matter how much it hurt. See, there were many things Mickey had ran from, many people, all of which ended up badly anyway. Running away was always the easy way out, that was why it was called the quick escape. But _this,_ protecting Ian, there wasn't an easy option. There never had been with that kid.

 

Mickey had meant those words he said back there, _his partner, lover, family, y'know?_ Ian was his family, just as were the rest of them. No matter how hard Ian could plead not to go into that place, Mickey would push him, because sometimes you've gotta do what makes the heart shatter, to make it worth it.

 

The ex-con watched with a blur as the whole room ran with motion, it wasn't his world, not yet.Not now Ian was away, he felt like an outcast. Like he had gone in with Ian and left an autopilot – all he had to do was keep telling himself that Ian would get better. _Ian will get better. Ian will get better._

 

Right now, as he recognised, the only thing _right_ he had left at that moment was Yev. At first, he hated the kid, but now – looking into those blue, deep eyes he saw something else. He saw an innocent little boy chucked into a world that wasn't rainbows and smiles, that wasn't a fairytale out of a book – he felt that went for Ian too. They both deserved a better life. Just three more days, three more days till his _life_ with freckles and a smug smile, would exit those doors, it was all just a wait for what would happen next. But he knew he wasn't taking the easy way out.

 

Running was for pussies anyway.


	42. Mora na maidine dhuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 42) Tell them your dreams (meaning sleepy dreams not ambitions, lul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My granddad is Irish and I literally had this dream and he took the piss like all dy AHAHAH, 
> 
> if you are wondering what the title means its Top of the morning to you in Irish/Gaelic ahahaha

He swore he had a packet of twenty only a couple of minutes ago when he had been taking his first drag. Now, looking into the empty pack all he had was a snapped smoke that he had crushed in a moment of frenzy-frustration. Ian hadn't got home yet from the bar, he had been bar-tending all week, all hours, and finally he would have a day off the next day – particularly for more or less four days, in which they would use highly to their advantage. The smashed clock, that Ian had recently demanded was to be put up (for time reference or some shit, seriously no one knew what day of the year it was, nevermind the fucking time), it was ticking louder than usual. Something that yet was still irritating like a cheese grater to his brain.

 

Mickey sat up-right in the pitch-black dark, the window shone almost nothing into the room after Iggy had shot out the lampost light outside, a-fucking-gain. A few minutes prior he had woken up, gasping for a shortage of air, as his mind was riddled with distant dreams of little red-headed children all speaking at once. It frightened the fuck out of him. The smoke in his hands was nearly a blunt as he heard the front door slam shut, a little too harshly.

 

Mickey scrambled to put out his smoke and pretend that he was asleep, because Ian would be all over him if he found out he had a some-what nightmare that was keeping him up, smoking all night. Ian's footsteps were getting closer and the blanket was getting harder to control and unravel from around his bare body, in all effect he didn't expect it to betray him. He trusted that stupid blanket.

 

The door swung gently open, Ian was trying to not wake Mickey without knowing that the ex-con was fighting for his right of pretending to be a sound asleep. As Ian made his quiet entrance, Mickey – not so much. The raven-haired boy tumbled to the floor in his clamber and struggle, taking the blanket and his pillow with him. The side-table knocked a couple of empty beer bottles, but unfortunately it was only Mickey who was looking like the fool at this point.

 

“Er, are you alright Mick?” Ian boiled up into laughter, his hand hitting against his own chest as Mickey lay face down against the cold, flat floor. The redhead, moved closer, finding it hard to breath through his bubbles of continuous laughter. “Fucking hell, what are you even doing?”

 

“I was sleeping.” Mickey uttered from the floor, only just turning his head to the side with a groan. There was no bother to move from his space because he knew Ian would pull him up, either way. “You gonna help me the fuck up or you just going to laugh like a dick head?”

 

Ian pushed away a couple of laughs, pressing his mouth together to hide them. “ _Sure._ Don't fall on the way up princess.” He gripped the smaller boy up and pulled him to the shifted bed, he pushed him onto the mattress and walked over to his bag and pulled out a packet of smokes. For some reason, he knew Mickey would be out.

 

“You call me that shit again I'll rip your fucking head off.” Mickey called from his awkward positioned spot against the sheets. He watched as Ian stripped off from his clothes, the little peak of light giving him enough to stare at – Jesus, Ian did look fucking good in the moonlight. “Pass me a smoke, asswipe.”

 

Ian huffed, eyes noticing the empty packet Mickey had chucked in his spray of fallen glory, against the floor. “Fuck off, you had your own pack. You had like twenty when I left, you chain smoking now?” Ian only asked Mickey this because recently Mickey had been cutting down, mainly for Yev's sake – something about the baby not being surrounded by smoke (according to Ian) but they both knew that would always be the case because Svetlana never stopped fucking smoking, and Iggy just didn't give a shit – he was always high, he didn't know his ups from his downs.

 

Mickey didn't went to progress into the story of his weird-ass fucking dream, so he glared over to the boy, gripping onto the blanket and turning to his side. He could deal without a smoke for a night, surely.

 

Okay he fucking couldn't. Ian was laid next to him, arm against his back, and all Mickey could hear was the inhale against the filter and low, crisp sound of the cigarette slowly eroding. “Could you fuck off smoking, Jesus christ.” he suddenly snapped, the sound just killing him at the spot.

 

“Yeh, I will, only when you tell me what's up.” Ian blew out his smoke, tempting to blow it directly onto Mickey's face but he was nicer than that – that was something Mickey would probably do, not that Ian was complaining. However, he did see how Mickey was acting weird, almost jittery, especially when he was trying to pretend to go to sleep, now that was a winner.

 

“Nothings up.” Mickey uttered childishly, hoping Ian would just drop it because he wasn't in the mood to explain himself or his dream, at all, at this moment. It was stupid, it was fucking ridiculous – Ian would just laugh in his face.

 

Ian deposited his blunt smoke onto a empty plate that was resting on the side-table. “ _Right.”_ Ian tested, turning the lamp off and tugging at the covers to shield himself from the cold draft that was peeping through the broken gap of the window. Staring up at the ceiling, he pushed himself not to cuddle into Mickey until the brunette spoke up.

 

“I had a dream.” Mickey mumbled into his pillow, immediately regretting it as soon as the words flew out of his mouth.

 

Ian moved up onto his elbow, resting against it as he peered over at Mickey. “A nightmare?” Mickey had a lot of those, this time he was even more annoyed that it wasn't. Mickey shook his head, biting his tongue to tell him to shut the fuck up. “What is it then?” Ian prodded, his voice filled with concern.

 

“It doesn't matter.” Mickey tried to shove it off, the conversation getting more intense and irritating by the second. For once, could Ian just drop it.

 

“No, it does. Obviously its keeping you awake so you might as well tell me, so we both can have a good night sleep.” It felt like Ian was bargaining with him, but then again, he always knew the right words to say, in literally any situation.

 

It was tempting, Ian had a way with words, sometimes just a little touch could get Mickey talking. “Right. But I ain't reciting it like fucking Shakespeare, so prepare yourself.” he laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling and cringing against the memory of his dream. “There was a like a million little redheaded kids running around.”

 

“Wait what?” Ian felt his lips bubble up with laughter, had Mickey seriously dreamt this?

 

“Shut the fuck up, I ain't finished.” Mickey scolded before carrying on. “They all had like really fucking green eyes, they were staring at me like you do when I get annoyed and then, then it got even more fucking weird.” He rubbed at his head, why did he even dream this? Why.

 

Ian put his input into the dream-telling, his eyes widening at the full extent of the whole thing. Mickey totally loved Gingers too much. “Did they like all merge into one and then go out and fight evil, or maybe I came in and sang some highschool musical to you, you that one – I gotta get my head in the game-

 

“What the fuck Gallagher.” Mickey interrupted, pausing the singing because it was seriously out of tune and too fucking late. “Are you on drugs?” He randomly palmed Ian's head, deserving nothing but a lick to his arm.

 

Ian stayed silent, for a moment. “I had some boost energy before. Maybe its that.”

 

“Fucking hell.” Mickey huffed out a laugh, pinching himself because he knew he should be getting Ian off of them things. Back to the story. “Oh, fuck the dream. So they were little yous running around and then they all started shouting in like some weird Irish accent, going “top of the morning to you” I don't know man. It was like Lion king but the stampede was little ginger Irish kids.”

 

There was a short pause before Ian burst into a fit of laughter, hand on his chest to push his heaving down. Mickey glared at him, feeling worse and more self conscious now his boyfriend was taking the piss. “Would you stop fucking laughing, Jesus. I knew I should of never said anything.”

 

“Oh Mick, come on.” Ian pulled at his boyfriends now-turned over shoulder. “Why don't I cook you up some _potatoes_ huh, or a pint of Guinness?” He was teasing him now, that little shit. If he wasn't so cute then maybe Mickey would have punched him in the jaw.

 

“Fuckkk off.” Mickey groaned into his pillow. Worst idea ever telling Ian his dream, he knew this would happen. With Mandy not being there he got twice the teasing from Ian.

 

Ian sighed happily, his hand resting against his chest. “Hey, Mick?.” He had finally calmed down – or so Mickey thought.

 

“What.”

 

“I'm going to teach Yev some Irish, I'd think it would suit him a lot. I might even buy him a ginger wig, y'know make the whole image.” That was it. They turned out wrestling, roughly arms flying everywhere. But as usual it always ended up with Ian's dick in Mickey's ass, so he wasn't completely complaining.


End file.
